Postbellum
by Jupiter's Promise
Summary: Shepard and Miranda, after.
1. First, the Pain

_Disclaimer: The characters and universe of Mass Effect belong to Bioware. Only flattery is intended._

* * *

The pain was the first thing that seeped in, penetrating the envelope of her unconsciousness with dull insistence. A flush of mundane sensations followed— the subtle weight of the sheets, air moving through her nostrils, faint nausea and a crackling dryness in her throat.

Then all at once, the world reasserted itself like the aftermath of a flashbang grenade, all faint, indiscernible sounds and encroaching brightness. It was hard to gauge how long her curiosity grappled with inertia until at last, in what felt like an act of singular ambition, she raised her eyelids.

The sight that greeted her was familiar.

She tried to speak, but the words faltered. Still, they managed to draw the object of her attention over, to bring an ear down close to her lips.

"Miss Lawson," her own voice sounded distant, "are we really doing this again?"

The figure shifted, and Shepard felt the tiniest of kisses fall on the shell of her ear.

"I can assure you Shepard, this _will_ be the last time."

She heard the words loud and clear, but she'd only grasped them in her mind a moment when they began to get fuzzy around the edges.

Then her eyes fell shut, and the light and the woman were gone. The other sensations all dulled in their turn— the subtle weight of fingers against her palm, breath grazing her cheek, a faint warmth in her chest and a contented sigh that nonetheless crackled all the way up her raw throat.

And last of all, the pain.

* * *

When she awoke, much of the pain was gone, along with something else she distinctly remembered from her last bout of consciousness.

"Was Miranda here?" Shepard asked, wincing at the hoarseness in her own voice.

Dr. Chakwas turned, clucking as she set down the datapad she'd been reviewing. She was fully intent on chiding the commander for her brusqueness, but something in Shepard's expression made her response come out gentler than she'd intended.

"Miranda had some business to see to today, but she was in yesterday, and last week when you briefly regained consciousness."

 _She is alive._

Chakwas watched the subtext sink in, watched Shepard bury her face in shaky hands before turning to give her patient a moment of privacy. And as she poured out two cups of water, she reflected on how similar the reaction might have been, given the alternative.

It just didn't feel right anymore to make such declarations outright, not with life finally retaking its proper place as the status quo. And yet, for Shepard, who'd blacked out in the midst of a disintegrating world and opened her eyes to a new one...

Chakwas shook her head. She had hoped this particular topic of conversation could wait. At the very least there should have been something stronger than water to pour. Still, there was no sense in delaying. That old world was gone forever, as it was destined to be, in victory or in death.

She handed Shepard a cup, pulling a chair up to the bed, "We don't need to get into what happened on the crucible, but you should know that whatever it was activated a pulse that traveled through the relay network to every corner of the galaxy, wiping out all forms of machine intelligence, friend and foe alike."

"Just like the kid said," Shepard murmured, gaze distantly fixed on the ceiling above.

Chakwas cleared her throat, and she was pleased to see Shepard's eyes dart back to her, their usual focus restored even if her countenance remained grim.

"There has been a monumental effort to reverse the damage. A number of the scientists you recruited for the crucible have stayed on board to tackle the problem, and Tali is cashing in all the goodwill the geth generated in the final months of the war. Even Miranda has been scouring Cerberus records for anything that might help."

"How's Joker?" Shepard asked in a dull tone.

The line of Chakwas' mouth thinned, "He was devastated, of course. I think it will do him a lot of good to see you back on your feet. Even now, hope remains a precious commodity."

Shepard's brow furrowed, and she glanced away. Chakwas took a deep breath.

"Admiral Anderson is dead," she added softly, "Reconstruction has put nearly everything on hold, but there is a memorial service scheduled for next week. I hesitate to get your hopes up, but Alliance Brass is rather hoping you might attend."

"And?"

"And you might," Chakwas replied evenly, "With your cybernetics functional again the rest of your recovery should be a snap, but I am wary of letting anyone set you back, yourself included. Every single one of your implants needed some form of intervention and that added up to a lot of procedures. Half the time I wondered if Adams or Tali would have been better-suited to the task. Needless to say, Miranda's contribution has been vital."

"It sounds like you had to revive the Lazarus Project," Shepard remarked.

"Well…yes and no," Chakwas crossed her legs and tapped her cup thoughtfully, "The central problem of the Lazarus Project was irrelevant given that you weren't dead. That said, we did have to reopen the book on practically every other aspect of it."

She adopted a wry smile, "Incidentally, I should warn you that Lazarus is not the reanimated biblical figure most people are comparing you to these days."

Shepard, who had just raised her cup to her lips, paused long enough to frown, and the doctor chuckled, giving her arm a reassuring pat, "I'd watch those sour expressions if I were you. Your water is going to go straight past wine and turn to vinegar if you aren't careful."

Downing the rest of the drink in one gulp, Shepard absently crumpled the cup. "There's something I still don't understand. You talk about these developments like they're well under way. Project Lazarus itself took two years. Even without needing to revive me…" She seemed to be trying to perform calculations in her head, but eventually decided to try the direct approach, "How long have I been out?"

"Today is May 18th. The Battle for Earth happened nine months ago."

* * *

"Shepard…"

The voice was soft, its tone a familiar mix of fondness and rebuke cloaked in an Australian accent. Shepard felt fingers sliding through her hair, nails gently grazing her scalp.

"Dr. Chakwas tells me you've been awake all morning, and you choose now of all times to be bloody unconscious-"

"Not bloody or unconscious, thanks to you both."

Shepard opened her eyes and instantly regretted it, blinking to temper the unrelenting light. The regret was fleeting however, because in the next moment her pupils adjusted and there was Miranda, with one of those rare transparent expressions on her face. It was not to be missed.

"You know," Shepard teased, "just because my eyes are closed doesn't mean I can't hear. I'm not dead to the world."

An unexpected fragility flickered across Miranda's features, and Shepard instantly regretted her choice of words.

"No," Miranda replied, speaking softly, almost carefully, "but it was a near thing."

There was a moment of silence, then Shepard reached up and entwined their fingers, urging the other woman to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Looks like I dropped the ball on finding you… Glad you found me instead," she ventured.

"Actually, it was Grunt who found you," Miranda corrected with a small smile, "The krogan were first on the scene after the Citadel came down. While everyone else was still trying to catch their breath, Clan Urdnot was sifting through rubble looking for you. According to the report I read, our little tank-bred hauled most of a storefront off of you when the machine the Alliance was sending didn't come fast enough."

"A storefront?" Shepard's chuckle was punctuated by a cough, "That explains the headache nine months later."

Miranda took the hint and the hand that hadn't been captured resumed its gentle counterassault on every nerve ending in Shepard's scalp, fingers winding their way absently through the red locks.

"You were badly injured in nearly every way possible— trauma to put the injuries that killed you to shame…" she was frowning now, a grim look borne of knowing the truth behind her words in too much intricate detail, "And your cybernetics were making themselves as much a liability as a lifeline. Grunt had to carry you to the nearest field hospital because the roads were still so treacherous."

"That's my boy," Shepard's face filled with pride, "Hey, do you know if any of the natural history museums have reopened?"

The frown eased. Miranda's eyebrow quirked.

"I promised I'd take him to see dinosaurs after the war ended."

That earned her a very honest laugh, the kind she was always trying to coax out, but which only ever seemed to sneak up on her. She decided she liked it that way. Something to take her by surprise now that all the husks and phantoms were gone.

"For a 'pure krogan' and his battlemaster, the two of you certainly are domestic at times," Miranda mused.

A coy expression settled on Shepard's face, "You know, people sometimes say that about me and my ex-Cerberus girlfriend..."

Just then, the sound of voices nearby caught her attention and she glimpsed movement over Miranda's shoulder, squinting to make out the familiar silhouettes conversing beyond the frosted window.

"I know that's Dr. Chakwas, but could that big lug she's talking to be James?"

Miranda glanced over her shoulder, "Lieutenant Vega, yes. They weren't going to let me into the hospital until Dr. Chakwas told the Admiralty Board in no uncertain terms that you'd be dead before their next meeting if they didn't budge. Lt. Vega volunteered to be the compromise. He's here to make sure I stay on my best behavior."

"Is he staying on _his_ best behavior?" Shepard asked, raising a brow.

"Don't worry, I know how to handle his type," Miranda replied knowingly, a sly smile crossing her features, "Besides, he's positively infatuated with some woman named Lola."

"Hey _Lola_."

James chose that exact moment to come striding into the room. Shepard resisted the urge to snicker as realization swept the smile off Miranda's face. She did regret that the other woman's hands had fallen away the instant the doors had swished open.

"James," she said fondly, shifting in her bed to see him better, "Looks like those precious muscles of yours got you through after all."

He grinned, "Yes ma'am, but then again I wasn't the one wrestling reapers. Heard you were in pretty bad shape when they found you."

Shepard shrugged, "You should've seen the other guy."

"Yeah, the way Grunt tells it, the other guy was a store," James replied with a chuckle, "News keeps sayin' it was your favorite store on the Citadel too. Kind of a crazy coincidence, no?"

"Uh, yeah..." Shepard coughed, "What are the odds…"

She pretended not to catch Miranda's eye roll in her peripheral vision.

"Come to think of it," she continued, "I seem to recall _you_ flying headfirst into one of those fancy red London phone booths. Well, it was either you or a brute… memory's a bit fuzzy."

"Ouch, Lola, please. A brute? Me? I'm more like a cuddly little ravager," he replied, ruffling his mohawk and adopting a disarming expression.

"Uh-huh," Shepard crossed her arms, "And they've got you on guard duty again, I see. Surprised they haven't promoted you— who lost that paperwork?"

"They'll get around to it eventually," James replied, "they were probably just waitin' to see if you'd pull through or not… you know, before giving me command of the Normandy."

Shepard raised a brow, "You know you'd have to fight Kaidan for it."

James snorted, "I seem to remember a certain someone stickin' up for _this guy_ in the old 'muscles vs. biotics' debate. Besides, Alenko's stuck doing all the ceremonial crap they couldn't get you for. Watching Sheila over here's way better than that."

He shot Miranda a smile, earning an eye roll of his own.

"Sheila?" Shepard glanced between the two of them, "Very good James, you do know a thing or two about Australian stereotypes. I'm warning you now though— look, but don't touch. Honestly, try not to let me catch you looking, either."

"That an order, ma'am?" he asked, tone impudent.

"It is, and not the first time I've given it to you either."

"Ain't that the truth," James replied, laughing so that it shook his whole frame. It was then that he noticed Shepard's arm had encircled the other woman's waist, and his laughter ceased. He stared a moment, incredulously.

" _Dios_ \- you've got to be kidding me!"

He checked again, but sure enough Shepard's hold remained, her hand resting comfortably yet declaratively on the other woman's hip. And this was that ex-Cerberus chick who'd been with them when they'd taken out the collectors, which meant...

"Joker knew about this! And Garrus, and probably Tali too," his mind was racing, "No way in hell Liara doesn't know-"

"If it makes you feel any better," Shepard interrupted, "I'm pretty sure Kaidan is oblivious."

At just that moment, the doors swished open to reveal Dr. Chakwas.

"You knew too, didn't you doc?!" James exclaimed, fixing her with an accusatory look.

Chakwas frowned, "James, I haven't the slightest idea what you could be talking about, but please try to keep your voice down. This is a recovery ward, not a schoolyard."

The large marine crossed his arms sulkily and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to Shepard, as Chakwas fussed with some of the settings on the nearby machinery. At length, he turned.

"So…I guess this means no more matching tattoos?" he asked, pouting slightly.

Shepard's smile was broad, "Not at all, James. Just leave room for Miranda's name next to yours."

" _No hay problema!_ It's a good thing Sheila's only six letters…"

"Not a chance," Miranda cut in without missing a beat, "I put far too many hours of my life into that skin to let you graffiti it, and besides, if I wanted someone with tattoos, there were plenty of people encouraging me to make a pass at Jack, yourself included, Shepard."

"If this is about the party, let me just point out that by that time I'd had about three too many and I was encouraging lots of people to kiss," Shepard protested, "Some of whom are obliged to follow my orders."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Everybody just cool it, okay?" James interrupted, "I'm still getting used to the idea of you two…together…like that…no need to give a man a heart attack."

"Is that what all that shouting was about?" Chakwas asked, coming over to do some omni-tool readings, "Really, James..."

"I know, I know. Just gonna have to redouble my efforts with Traynor, I guess," he replied, giving Shepard a wink.

"Perhaps the two of you can bond over your broken hearts," Chakwas added dryly.

"This would be Samantha Traynor, your comm specialist?" Miranda shook her head and sighed, "Honestly, Shepard, how do you always find yourself in these situations?"

"What can I say? I have a thing for exotic accents," Shepard replied, earning a sidelong look that was meant to be chastising but which she chose to take as encouragement, "Why just this morning Dr. Chakwas was doing an incredibly distracting job of reading a bulletin on the hospital's new handwashing policy…"

 _That_ earned her a nip in the side from Miranda's biotics, and a reproving glance from Chakwas.

"Don't you dare drag me into this Jane Shepard. If you were distracted at the time, it was because you spent all morning trying to come up with _inventive_ new ways to circumvent the hospital's no-pets policy. Now if you'll please relinquish Miranda there are a few things I'd like to go over with her."

Miranda gave the hand at her hip a squeeze before gently extricating herself from the hold and moving over to join Dr. Chakwas by the machines.

Shepard watched them a moment, hoping to get some insight into their exchange, but they spoke softly, their bodies obscuring the screen they were reviewing. What she did not fail to note was the slump in their shoulders, so slight as to be virtually unnoticeable save on the frame of the two most perfectly-postured people she knew. Not for the first time, she got the feeling her recovery had come at the cost of a lot of sleepless nights for both of them.

"So," James began conspiratorially, interrupting her thoughts, "Does she have a sister?"

Shepard sighed and gave him a stern look, "You were with me at Sanctuary, James. You _know_ she has a sister. You also know what she does to people who mess with her sister."

"Yeah, but-"

" _Let it go_ , Lieutenant."

"Okay, okay, next question. Does Scars know?"

Shepard laughed, "Sorry to say, but Garrus pretty much knew before I did."

"What about Javik?"

"Knows there's someone. Don't think he knows Miranda though."

"Esteban?"

"No, though I imagine he soon will…"

"Grunt?"

"Oh yeah. Practically already calls her mommy."

James chuckled and shook his head, and then, just like that, his face turned serious. He glanced up to make sure Miranda and Chakwas were distracted and scooted closer to Shepard.

"Does Hackett know?"

Shepard raised an eyebrow and cocked her head, "Why should Hackett know?"

The large marine shifted uncomfortably, lowering his voice, "I dunno Commander, you know I'm no good at this political stuff. It's just now that the war's over, and they're seeing the real size of this thing… Well, there's lots of blame getting thrown around, and Sheila here's kinda on the wrong side of history."

"So was I," Shepard replied, eyes narrowing.

"I know, I know," James raised his arms defensively, "But you're Shepard, and shit wouldn't stick to you even if anyone _wanted_ to throw it. Sheila's in a bit of a tougher spot. She-"

"That's enough, Lieutenant." They both glanced up to see Miranda. The look she was giving James made him shut up, quickly.

"Right now Shepard needs to focus on recovering. We can worry about the rest later," Chakwas affirmed, coming up beside her.

"Yeah, well, we should probably get goin' anyway..." James pushed up off the bed, avoiding his Commander's penetrating gaze even as he shied away from Miranda's. He was pretty sure there was an old saying for times like this, something about a rock and a hard place...

"Get some sleep, Shepard. I'll come back and see you again when I can," Miranda said softly, moving back to the side of the bed. She leaned down and placed a kiss on the other woman's forehead, thumb skimming over the pink line of a scar on her cheek.

Shepard managed enough leverage to push up slightly, finding Miranda's lips with hers. She felt the palm curve around her jaw, dark hair falling around her face like a curtain.

After a long moment Miranda pulled away, and for the second time since she'd woken, Shepard caught that brief flash of fragility in the other woman's eyes. Her brows drew together, almost unconsciously, and she felt the thumb leave her cheek to smooth them.

" _Don't worry_ , just sleep," Miranda impressed, "We need to get you out of this hospital. Ori keeps asking how much longer it's going to be before she'll be able to see you."

"Lots of people askin' that question," James muttered.

"And they can all be patient just a little longer," Chakwas replied, in the very tone Shepard suspected had kept the 'well-wishers' at bay.

She watched them go, Miranda shooting one final smile over her shoulder that smacked more of her usual confidence than the rest of her visit altogether. James managed to ask where _his_ goodbye kiss was before Chakwas shoved him out after her.

Eventually even Chakwas left, admonishing Shepard, just as Miranda had, to stop thinking so hard about things and get some sleep.

Eventually, she did.

* * *

 _a/n- Thanks for reading. Writing the postwar fic seems to be a rite of passage for us ME fans, our chance to celebrate everything we loved and furiously deny everything we didn't. This is my stab at that, and more than anything I hope my affection for these characters and this universe show through. Next chapter should be up soon._

 _-JP_


	2. Scars of War and Surgery

"What is the meaning of this? I understood that I was giving permission for the Commander to attend a memorial, not conduct one."

"Just a few last minute programmatic changes," the Lieutenant replied crisply, taking the datapad and passing it to Shepard without acknowledging the glare the doctor was giving him, "Unfortunately, Commander, there wasn't time to add your name to the program since your medical clearance was so unfortunately delayed…"

Shepard narrowed her eyes and gave the datapad a second look, "I'm expected to be on stage?"

"Yes ma'am, and don't worry— you'll be seated for the majority of the ceremony and my secretary assures me you'll be able to brace yourself on the podium without any trouble. Now, we knew you probably wouldn't feel up to a speech…"

Shepard's eyes shot up to him.

"…so we took the liberty of writing one for you. Just a few key points for you to hit. Of course you can jazz it up however you like once you're up there. It _is_ a memorial, so feel free to throw in any memories of you might have of your time with the admiral. Just try to steer clear of anything political— you know, punching ambassadors, anything to do with Cerberus… Oh, and we're going to need you to stick around a bit after the ceremony for a quick Q&A with a few members of the press. Invitation only, though they will be taking some vid footage, all pending approval from Alliance PR- oh, hang on a moment…"

He paused at the ping of his omni-tool, looking down to scan the message before his face slid into a frown.

"Dr. Chakwas, may I ask what the meaning of this is?"

The doctor crossed her arms, "I believe it should be abundantly clear from the memo I've just forwarded. The Commander's medical clearance has been revoked. She is most certainly not sufficiently recovered for what you have planned."

"What?" Shepard struggled against stiff muscles, trying to meet Chakwas' eyes, "I _have_ to go. I have to say goodbye."

"Not like this you don't," she replied firmly.

The Lieutenant, meanwhile, had turned a decidedly vivid shade of red, and was clearly struggling to control himself when next he spoke.

"Doctor, if I might have a word in private?"

They stepped out into the hall, leaving Shepard dumbfounded in their wake. As soon as they were out of earshot, he spoke again.

"With all due respect, Doctor, this is ridiculous!"

Chakwas' mouth curved into a wry smile, "You know, there was a marine Shepard and I served with called Ashley Williams— perhaps you've heard of her. I think you might have enjoyed her interpretation of the phrase, 'with all due respect'…"

"What I mean to say is that the Commander is clearly quite capable-"

"Were you listening to her? Were you looking at her at all?" Chakwas cut in, in a tone that left no room for argument, "It hardly requires a medical degree to see that she's not ready to make a dramatic return or wax nostalgic in front of millions—in fact, I'd say the last thing she wants is for this day to be about her at all. This is her chance to say goodbye to a mentor and a very dear friend. The rest can wait, indefinitely as far as I'm concerned."

"She can't hide forever," he snapped, clearly agitated, "The people need her. They need to see her. She's their _hero_ -"

"Watch your tone, Lieutenant," Chakwas voice had become low and dangerous, "She may be their hero, but the man they're burying today is _hers_."

He swallowed, suddenly cognizant of the fact that the woman before him was the highest ranking officer in the hospital, higher than him, higher even than the famous commander convalescing in the nearby room.

"Understood, ma'am," he hastily corrected, affecting a snappy salute, "I presume you'll still be joining us as planned?"

"Of course I will," she grumbled, turning back into Shepard's room, "Since it's clearly too late to change the program."

They walked back into the room, straight into the line of sight of an extremely displeased commander.

"Don't," the doctor said simply, raising her hand before Shepard could speak.

"But I-"

"Just…trust me, Shepard," she went on, fixing the commander with a significant look.

"Now, I'm going to be at the service most of the day. I'll leave your dress blues here since you'll doubtless need them sometime soon. The nurses won't be checking in since you were meant to be gone, but I see no need to make alterations at this point. The emergency VI will be on standby, and I'm sure you'll call if you need anything…"

For a moment, their eyes locked as the Lieutenant busied himself with the latest development on his datapad.

"Understood, Doctor."

"Very good, Commander.

* * *

"We're leaving."

Miranda pushed back from the desk and gave her sister a quizzical look.

"Was that someone at the door?"

"No… I mean I told them they had the wrong place," Oriana replied, nose scrunching slightly as her eyes darted away, "But I was just thinking we should go out today anyway. You've spent more time with that terminal this week than you have with me."

For a moment, Miranda just stared. She was extensively practiced in the nuances of human expression— had cut her teeth reading volumes in her father's curt nods and achieved mastery through her dealings with cutthroats and colleagues alike during her time with Cerberus.

Oriana had the stance down pat, hands on her hips in the doorway, radiating confidence and authority and vague impatience. And she was clever, damnit— knew Miranda would respond to her little sister's needs long before she would respond to her own. All that aside, it was almost unnerving what an absolutely terrible liar she was.

Of course, what could motivate her sister to lie was a more interesting question. Was that Danner boy Oriana had her eye on recovered enough to be paying house calls? She made a mental note to check his patient files. But before she could speculate further, her omni-tool beeped and she glanced down the see a message from James Vega of all people.

 _Hey Sheila, think you could let us in? Sis just gave us the bum's rush._

Miranda groaned and massaged her temple, "Ori, were the people at the door Alliance soldiers, by chance?"

The stance gave way instantly, and her answer came in the form of her little sister wringing her hands and suddenly looking very sheepish. Miranda stood with a sigh.

"Oh Ori, they aren't here for me. They're here for..." she faltered. What were they here for?

When it came down to it, there was really only one possibility. She was out of the back room and standing before the door in a matter of seconds. Sure enough, on the other side was James Vega. She'd never met the man accompanying him, but she'd done her due diligence on Shepard's crew ages ago, and recognized him as Lieutenant Steve Cortez, the Normandy's shuttle pilot.

"Sheila, this is Esteban. Esteban, Sheila."

"Miranda, actually," she interjected smoothly, offering her hand.

"Steve," he replied, shaking it, "James tells me you and Shepard are together. Glad to hear she found someone— always thought it had to get lonely for her up there on that pedestal."

"Easy for you to say," James grumbled, "Nobody's goin off the market for you…"

"I'd say you're in the wrong market, but I guess in this case I'd be outnumbered," Steve replied, flashing a smile.

James just snorted, "How is it that I always find myself in situations where my likeliest prospect is a sappy fighter jock with terrible taste in biotiball teams and- _hello_."

His tone shifted immediately, and Miranda felt herself bristle. She took a deep breath, reminded herself that James Vega was ostensibly harmless and a friend of Shepard's besides, and turned to acknowledge Oriana.

"Hi," her little sister replied, poking her head around the doorway, "everything okay out here?"

"Sorry about earlier," she added, emerging to fix the two soldiers with a stern expression, "Look, you aren't here to arrest my sister, are you?"

James blinked, "Arrest her? Nah, we just wanna borrow her."

"Why? What's happened?" Miranda interjected, in a tone that deliberately drew his eyes away from her sister and back to her.

"Nothing's happened…" James replied defensively, "I assume you know Shepard got permission to go to the memorial today?"

"I knew Dr. Chakwas was leaning that way, yes…"

"Yeah, well when she heard what they'd cooked up for the occasion, she started the leanin' the other way fast. Asked me and Esteban here to organize something a little more low-key and said it would probably be best if you tagged along too, you know, in case Lola short-circuits or something."

"Who's Lola?" Oriana interrupted.

Miranda sighed impatiently, ensuring it was directed at the marine and not her sister, "He means Shepard."

"Her first name is Lola?"

"No, it's…" James paused, "Doc said it the other day. It's some generic name that starts with a 'J'."

"You mean like James?" Miranda suggested dryly.

"Nah, that's not it."

"Don't mind him," Cortez offered, "Hard to remember people even have real names when you've got a nickname for _everyone_."

"It's Jean or Joan or something… Esteban, help me out here!"

"It's Jane, much as she hates to admit it," Miranda said, "Though it might as well be 'Commander' these days."

"Hopefully not for long. It's going to seriously hurt morale if defeating every reaper in the galaxy isn't worth at least a captaincy," Cortez remarked.

"Speaking of names, I never got yours," he added, turning to Oriana with a smile.

James elbowed him, "Esteban, you don't remember Oriana Lawson? You gave her a ride away from Sanctuary."

"That's right, how could I forget," Cortez rubbed the back of his head bashfully, "I guess I was distracted by her sister bleeding out on the floor of my shuttle and Shepard yelling at me to go faster."

"That was you?" Oriana had turned to James, eyes wide with realization, "I knew you looked familiar! You're the marine that came with Shepard to rescue me and my sister!"

"James Vega, in the flesh. And Steve Cortez here was your getaway driver," he replied, shaking her hand, "Though we technically came to track down that son of a bitch Kai Leng."

"Who got away, the bastard," Miranda muttered.

James shrugged, "Shepard made sure he got his in the end, and I'd say gettin' the Lawson sisters was a pretty damn good consolation prize."

Oriana smiled, "I don't think I got the chance to say this at the time, but thank you both for everything. I owe you my life, my sister… You were all so brave."

"Hey, you were the one with some maniac holding a gun to your head. You're the one living your life now in spite of it. So you tell me who's the brave one," James replied, expression serious.

"I'd prefer we not get into that now," Miranda interjected in a clipped tone, "I'm ready to go— let's get Shepard and get going."

"Can I come?" Oriana asked.

"No."  
"Sure."

Miranda shot James an exasperated look.

"Why not?" Oriana asked.

"Yeah, why not?" he echoed, "I'm sure Lola wouldn't mind. Esteban and I were just gonna watch from the skycar anyway so that you two could take our seats. Your sister's welcome to hang with us."

"Great, I'll go and grab my things." Oriana hurried back inside and Miranda fixed James with a withering glare.

"Hey, don't look at me like that," James insisted, raising both hands defensively, "I'm just a cuddly little ravager, remember? Shit, wait, that didn't come out right…"

Before she could issue an ultimatum, or possible just a biotic pull centered on his balls, Oriana reappeared, no doubt aware that moving quickly was to her advantage in this situation.

"Ready," she chirped happily.

"Alright then, let's get goin'. We can start comin' up with a name for you," James offered Oriana his arm, apparently unaware of the growing danger to his groin, "So what else are you into?"

"Colonial development," Oriana replied, taking the proffered arm.

"Uh, wow, that's..." James laughed, "Colonial development, eh? That's a tough one. I'm guessin' you don't wanna be called prefab?"

"Not if I can avoid it," she said with a laugh as they headed towards the car, a cross Miranda and an apprehensive Cortez following behind.

James gave her a winning smile, "I think I'm gonna need something more to go on…"

"In that case, I'd better tell you a bit more about myself," Oriana replied, returning it.

* * *

It was a testament to the man's uncanny good fortune, or perhaps the intercession of some extremely benevolent god, that James even made it to the hospital in one piece. That was all Steve Cortez could figure anyway, as they pulled up at the loading zone.

It hadn't helped that the gregarious marine had slid into the back seat next to Oriana, leaving him free to chat amiably with the younger Lawson sister and affording Cortez an excellent view of the elder one (the one with extensive combat training) looking extraordinarily vexed in the seat beside him. Needless to say, the possibility that they'd be doing a drop off at the hospital in addition to a pickup wasn't far from his mind.

"Why don't you run in and get her?" Cortez suggested, turning to give the man behind him a look that indicated it was not a suggestion, "I'll keep the engine running."

"Alright, I guess it'll be faster that way," James conceded.

"Here, get out on this side. You're going to get hit by an ambulance if you go out your door," Oriana said, getting out of the car.

" _Gracias_ ," he said, moving out past her.

" _De nada,"_ she replied, giving him a confident smile.

James froze, stunned.

"Any day now, Mr. Vega," Cortez prompted.

James shook his head and hurried off, disappearing into the hospital. After a minute, a message pinged on Cortez's omni-tool.

 _JV: She speaks Spanish!_

He rolled his eyes.

 _SC: So does her sister, so I'd still watch what you say._

 _JV: Miranda speaks Spanish too?_

 _SC: Spanish, Chinese, French, and the primary dialect for each of the council races. You've been watching this woman for how many months now, and you never bothered to read up on her?_

 _JV: Hey, at least I remembered that she had a sister!_

Signing, Cortez deactivated his omni-tool and leaned back into his seat. He had a feeling things would go a bit more smoothly once Shepard joined them. One could hope, anyway. Miranda had gotten out to preemptively claim the seat beside her sister in the back, which would also no doubt help matters.

His omni-tool pinged again, but he ignored it. James could go on about women with Shepard, it was wasted on him…

About five minutes later, he was just activating him omni-tool to call up and find out what the hold-up was when the ignored message popped up on his interface.

 _JV: So… what if I told you Shepard isn't here?_

* * *

Shepard adjusted the peaked cap one more time. She was quite certain its inclusion in the packet of dress blues the lieutenant had delivered was a mistake, since her rank did not demand it, but she had to admit that it made a low-profile exit a good deal more feasible. Once she'd wound her distinctive red hair into a tight bun and pulled the brim low over her face, she could've been mistaken for any high-ranking Alliance officer.

She made it out of the hospital without too much trouble. Her omni-tool was still equipped with a surprising amount of clearance, and she was confident she could hack anything that wouldn't yield. When she didn't want to be seen, she vanished.

The front doors themselves gave her no trouble. They opened obligingly, and she took her first breath of fresh air in months.

Of course, fresh was relative. It was still a bit thick and hazy, but at least it didn't feel recycled like the air in the hospital. Even through her crisp uniform, she could feel the warmth of the sun on her back.

Carefully, she stepped along the still uneven streets, grudgingly telling herself that the omni-cane she leaned against was all part of the disguise. She had gathered from the lieutenant's abandoned datapad that the service was being held in a 20-acre memorial park adjacent to the cemetery they'd built on the hill where the Hades Cannon had been brought down.

According to a blurb in the program, the site of the Citadel wreckage had also been considered, but Admiral Hackett had nixed it. _Remembering how he died is important, but not as important as remembering how he lived_ , the program recorded him as having said, and Shepard approved of the sentiment. A near-grave in the accretion disc of Alchera was enough to convince her of that.

Admiral David Edward Anderson Memorial Park, they were calling it. She would have been proud to have been buried there.

Keeping her head down, she made her way to the kiosk and hailed a sky-cab, casually returning the salutes of a pair of passing medics. After a few moments a sputtering taxi, painted to look like the black cabs of historical London and probably nearly as old, swooped down before her. It was a far cry from the last cab she'd commandeered back on Ilium, but she doubted they'd be dodging proximity charges. It seemed fitting somehow— a beat up ride for a beat up marine.

"Hullo there, soldier," the woman in the driver's seat greeted jovially, "Where to?"

"Anderson Memorial Park," she said, trying to mask her voice as she ducked into the back seat.

"Ah, headed to the memorial no doubt. Well I can't promise it'll be fast, but we'll get you there. Area's been jammed with traffic all morning."

"I'm in no hurry," Shepard replied, settling comfortably into the seat.

She watched as they flew over the city, plazas and avenues that had been transformed into LZs and chokepoints now restored to their intended purpose. Everywhere people were going about their daily business, rushing to markets instead of rendezvous points, dodging traffic instead of brutes. The streets were full of life, and _god_ that was better than the alternative.

"Quite remarkable how far it's come, eh?"

Shepard nodded, "Even more dramatic when you've slept through most of the process."

"Right— saw you're coming from hospital," the driver glanced at her in the mirror, "Must've been something nasty if you've been out all this time. How many reapers did you try to take down yourself then, love?"

"A few," Shepard replied with a small smile.

"Well, it don't matter how many. You're a damn hero in my book, you and every one of our ladies and lads in blue."

Shepard's smile widened. She could live with that. The driver chatted for the remainder of the trip, needing little encouragement from her terse passenger. And when they reached the queue for the entrance, the woman wouldn't hear of taking her credits.

"Now we're just a hair closer to even," she said with a wink, before lifting off and leaving Shepard standing on the pavement amidst the milling crowd of soldiers. Fortunately, some combination of the general chaos and her apparent rank (they had definitely gotten her the wrong uniform) kept anyone from approaching her.

She and about a thousand others had made it into the park proper but many more spilled out onto the street. Most of the officers were already seated near the stage, and those left standing behind them were the soldiers, the grunts. And though Anderson might have come from the former, the size of the crowd was a testament to how large he'd loomed in the hearts of the latter. He'd served with them, inspired them, and in the end he'd died with them. In their minds there was no finer soldier.

Up on the stage, Shepard could make out Hackett, along with a contingent of other officers and a large coffin wrapped in an Alliance banner where the late admiral lay, no doubt carefully kept in stasis. The lieutenant from the hospital was fussing near something twice his height wrapped in canvas beside the stage, making last-minute preparations. She suspected there would be others she knew in the crowd, but she had no intention of seeing or being seen.

Camera drones were swooping over the assembly, catching wide shots of the entire affair and streaming them across the galaxy. Shepard pulled the brim of her hat down lower.

* * *

"It's obvious where she went."

James shot him a skeptical look, "You seriously think Commander Shepard just waltzed out of that hospital and no one noticed?"

"Well, she is an infiltration specialist," Cortez pointed out.

"Yeah, but Doc said she was on tech lockdown. No way she'd be able to get out without an omni-tool."

Miranda shook her head, "Not so, I'm afraid. When we reconstructed her, her omni-tool was implanted directly into her arm."

"So there's no way to remove it," Cortez surmised, tapping the wheel impatiently.

"Well…" Miranda shrugged, "Short of removing her radius and ulna, no."

"If the memorial is our only lead, shouldn't we go there? Maybe someone will have recognized her," Oriana suggested.

"That's assuming we can get there," Cortez replied, dipping them down into an already sizable line of skycars, "Would she have access to a hardsuit? Functional or not, an omni-tool won't do her much good without power."

Miranda shook her head, "It's synced with the rest of her cybernetics. No additional hardware required."

"Is that even possible?" Cortez asked, shooting her an incredulous look in the rearview mirror.

"Would you like to see the schematics?" Miranda replied without missing a beat.

"I would," Oriana piped up.

"Don't sweat it, Esteban. Lots of civvies are wired for omni-tools these days."

"What exactly does the phrase 'no additional hardware required' mean to you, Lieutenant?" Miranda repeated.

"Well I'm going to see if I can see how far this line goes," Oriana declared, "be right back."

She stepped out onto the street, walking off in the direction the cars were facing.

"You know, you can call me James," the large marine said when she was gone.

"Right, James," Miranda amended, tempering her tone this time, "To be perfectly clear, her omni-tool can't be removed and it requires nothing external to function. She could be completely naked and it would still work as usual."

James grinned at her in the mirror, already recovered, "Heh, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you speak from personal experience, Sheila."

"And what if I do?" she snapped, annoyed by the man's immediate trampling of her olive branch.

The whirring of the idling skycar engine was the only response for a minute. That, and the sound of her mentally kicking herself.

"Wha-" James was cut off by Cortez's raised hand.

"Don't. It's none of your business."

"I know, but-"

"Like I said, it isn't your business." Cortez shot her an apologetic glance in the mirror.

"Okay, biotics I get — the asari probably mastered that before spaceflight — but _tech_?" James murmured in what he apparently thought was a subtle tone.

"Well, how do you think Joker and EDI-"

"Oh, for god's sake," Miranda cut in, immediately silencing them both, "Look, she was checking her messages, alright? Now can we please focus on the task at hand."

There was a moment of blessed silence.

"She checks her messages in bed?" James blurted, unable to help himself.

"James…" the pilot warned under his breath.

"I'm sorry, Esteban, but that is just _tacky."_

"I'm sure it was a special case," Cortez replied evenly, "Shepard isn't normally that inconsiderate."

"So you tell Hackett you're busy and you'll get around to liberating whatever fuel depot's in jeopardy in a minute," James insisted.

Miranda bit her tongue and continued to direct her exasperated expression at the window, which it returned. That it _had_ been Hackett was beside the point, and for all of Vega's sordid imaginings, all it had interrupted was some well-earned rest. Not that she hadn't resented it all the same— at the time, the opportunity to sleep together had felt as precious as the opportunity to _sleep together,_ and getting both in the same afternoon felt a bit like a gasp of air after a deep dive.

"I'm just sayin', if Shepard needs lessons on how to treat a lady, I'd be more than happy to oblige," James said, crossing his arms obstinately.

Cortez shook his head, "Maybe we should find her first."

Just then, Oriana reappeared, slipping back into the seat beside Miranda.

"I couldn't see the end, but the line is starting to move," she reported brightly.

Sure enough, they started to pull ahead, making steady progress for several blocks.

"So, we're looking for someone in an Alliance dress uniform?" Oriana said, eager to be helpful.

"Exactly, like the ones we're wearing," the pilot confirmed.

"Us, _annnd_ all those guys," James added as the skycar came to another stop.

Both Lawson sisters leaned around the seat to look out the windshield. A sea of people stretched out in the street before them, and the sea was Alliance blue.

* * *

"Who's like him?" Hackett said, his gravelly voice booming across the entirety of the assembly and to a half-dozen intergalactic news outlets besides.

"Damn few," shouted every voice in the crowd, more than a few choked up.

"Damn few is right," he continued, now in a low rumble, "And they're all dead."

He removed his hat and raised an arm, casting a firm solute towards the hilltop lined with white crosses in the distance. A thousand other arms followed suit, a battalion of salutations for a legion of fallen.

Shepard shifted her weight onto her other leg. Her knee had started aching sometime in the course of the other speeches and it had only gotten worse. Still, she was glad she'd stayed for Hackett's. The man still had it— he'd said exactly what needed to be said, in a quarter of the time.

Just then a drop of rain struck her shoe and she glanced up, noticing how significantly the sky had greyed in the time they'd been here. The lieutenant was making an announcement.

"As you can already see, we're expecting the weather to take a bad turn, so we're asking everyone to kindly allow the procession to take the lead and then file out after."

Solemnly, Hackett and a contingent of other officers including Chakwas, Kaidan, and Major Coats took up the coffin, marching down the corridor that ran through the middle of the crowd. The rain began in earnest, but those gathered didn't budge, turning their salutes to the procession as it passed.

Shepard swallowed hard and watched it go by, feeling like a damn coward for not running over to shoulder it with them, for not even daring to remove the hat from her head.

Once they had moved on, officers filed out down the center aisle followed by the rest. The grass had turned slick with accumulated rain as the crowd slowly moved towards the exit, chaotic but subdued, most walking beside their comrades in silence, the strangest military parade she'd ever seen.

Shepard watched them go, waited until the last stragglers finally gave in and beat a hasty retreat from the downpour. Then she walked past the stage, towards the shining new statue the canvas covering had revealed.

Deactivating the omni-cane, she forced herself to walk the last steps unassisted. Now she raised her hand in a stiff salute, now she pulled the hat from her head. The brass likeness of David Anderson towered before her, face resolute.

At least they'd known well enough to portray him in his dress blues. He would've been rolling in his grave if they'd immortalized him as a councilor, even if it was technically the highest office he'd held. On the platform beneath his feet, a plaque was mounted, which read:

 _This park is dedicated with respect and admiration to Admiral David Edward Anderson. Those who he served, by his life and by his death, will forever remember him as one of Earth's finest sons._

" _Humanity is ready to do its part. United with the rest of the Council, we have the strength to overcome any obstacle."_

Shepard could still remember the day he'd said it.

"Well sir, I made it out to see you," she said, the sound of her voice lost in the rain, "Could've used your help. The breakouts were always more exciting when I had you to back me up."

She smiled slightly, "Speaking of which, if Udina's with you wherever you are, give him a nice wallop right on the nose for me, and a kick in the groin for everyone else."

The rain was running down her uniform in rivulets now, wicking off the thoroughly waterproof coat and pants and shoes. Only on her face could she really feel it.

"I'm sorry I'm not up there with you…" She hesitated, looking up into his unblinking eyes, "I guess there's a few more things I have to take care of down here before I report for duty."

The throbbing in her knee was growing, but she resisted the urge to reactivate the omni-cane, or to slouch.

"All those things you said up on the Citadel… you never gave me a chance to say my piece. I hope you knew how much I admired you sir, how much I looked up to you. I never really knew my father— he was KIA long before the batarians hit Mindoir, but in my head he was strong and brave and honorable… in my head he was the greatest soldier that ever lived. And that man I'd imagined, that paragon of everything I wanted to be… somewhere along the line he became you, sir."

Looking up to the heavens, Shepard felt her eyes close, felt water running down her cheeks.

Then suddenly it stopped. Her eyes shot open, not to the grey London sky but to the black folds of an umbrella. Somehow in her reverie she'd completely missed the other's approach.

"Lieutenant Sanders."

"Commander Shepard," the blond woman replied, "Or is it Admiral these days? I'd heard some rumblings, but nothing official."

"Just Shepard, please."

"Alright then, Shepard, call me Kahlee," she smiled warmly and stepped in closer so they could share the umbrella, "I know we didn't have much chance to get to know each other, but I doubt David would have approved of us standing on formalities at his memorial service."

Shepard nodded, still unable to completely quash the feelings of awe the figure standing shoulder to shoulder with her inspired. This was Jon Grissom's daughter, the woman who'd won Anderson's heart. There was a time when Shepard had thought she'd known everything about the man, but that expression on his face, that _tone_ in his voice when he found out this woman was alive… It was a side of him she'd never seen before— not Anderson, but _David_.

She'd hoped to have a chance to see more of it, imagined that after the war the three of them might go out for drinks at the pub near the British Museum that Anderson always spoke fondly of. Maybe she would even have invited Miranda. She and Anderson could have traded stories of all the times they'd saved the famous Commander Shepard's life. She and Kahlee could have traded tips for butting heads with Jack.

"I'm surprised you aren't at the private service." Kahlee's words interrupted her thoughts.

"I could say the same to you."

Kahlee shook her head, "Cynthia was there, and their children. I stopped in, but it didn't seem right to stay long. Besides, I had a hunch about coming out here and I'm glad I did. I was looking for you earlier and when I didn't see you at the ceremony I figured I was out of luck. Should've known I'd find you two standing out here together in the rain."

"The uniform's very waterproof."

"Only if you wear it," she replied, glancing down at the hat hanging at the commander's side. She produced a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it into the other woman's hand.

"You said you were looking for me earlier?" Shepard diverted, wiping her face with the square of cloth, tucking the soaked tendrils that had escaped the confines of her bun back into place.

"Yes, I've been meaning to have a talk with you about Grissom Academy."

"Of course," Shepard turned to her, suddenly all business, "How are your students? Is David Archer okay?"

Kahlee laughed, "He asks me that same question about you every time we talk. Yes, he's safe. He's very interested in helping the geth, and with a mind like his I'm sure there's something he could contribute. I was thinking of putting him in touch with the quarian researcher we had on the crucible project… what was it, Admiral Xen?"

"Better to put him in touch with Admiral Zorah," Shepard replied quickly, "I can arrange a link-up if you'd like."

"I'd appreciate that."

It occurred to Shepard that she and Tali hadn't spoken since the last battle. She wasn't even sure if the quarian knew she was awake. And had she managed to patch up that suit rupture she'd gotten in the midst of a London warzone when a ravager's blast had made matchsticks of the kitchen counter she was hiding behind? Clearly Shepard had a lot to catch up on…

"He's still counting the days, you know," Kahlee added, "One tally for him, one for the rest of the galaxy."

Shepard said nothing.

"The biotic students are fine too," she went on, "Shoring up barriers kept them out of the line of fire for the most part, and any threat they did encounter had Jack to reckon with."

"Then I'm sure it was one hell of a reckoning," Shepard murmured, "They'll never forget the things they saw, good and bad. I imagine some won't be coming back to the academy."

"A few," Kahlee affirmed, nodding grimly, "But don't underestimate the resilience of the rest. For the most part they're anxious to get back to school, Jack more than any of them. For some, Grissom is as much a home as they have in this galaxy."

"There must be talk of restarting it by now."

Kahlee nodded, "Yes. The will was always there, but we only recently gained the capacity as well. I've just arrived back from a trip to the station. It looks like Cerberus and the reapers had a few skirmishes there after we evacuated but with the students gone the station wasn't of terribly much interest to either of them, so for the most part it's still exactly the way we left it. They're estimating a matter of weeks to bring primary systems back online."

"I'm guessing that's the easy part…"

A wry smile spread on Kahlee's face, "After that, we need to locate our students, reassess our sources of funding, confirm that every last trace of Cerberus has been wiped from our systems... It's a new galaxy, Shepard, and Grissom needs to find its place in it."

Shepard shook her head, "Sounds like a hell of a job."

"It will be, for someone…"

Shepard's eyes shot up to her. At this distance, the lighter streaks of grey in her hair were evident, the lines under her eyes. Still…

"You can't be saying-"

"I'm afraid I am," Kahlee cut her off, in a tone that said she'd put careful thought into what she was about to say, "You know David and I were planning to retire after the war, first to the Citadel, but later to a little flat in London. Well, that flat is gone, blown to smithereens with the rest of the city, and no matter how many shining, new things they build they can't bring it back…"

She was staring up at the statue, but Shepard's eyes remained trained on her.

"All the same," she went on, "I think I'm ready to go somewhere quiet, catch up on my reading list. Even if I could get it back on its feet, the academy needs someone who can be at its helm not just now, but in the years to come; someone to lead it into this brave new world."

She had turned from the statue, and met Shepard's gaze, "Someone like you, Shepard."

"Me?" Shepard actually laughed, turning away, "Ask me to nail a pyjack at 300 yards, ask me to get a rookie squad across no man's land, but don't ask me to run a school. Grissom's too important to let me screw it up."

Kahlee gave her a funny look, shaking her head, "You know you're so much like him sometimes…"

Shepard frowned, but didn't turn back.

"He said practically the same thing when the Council took up your recommendation. Said it was too important. Said he was just a soldier. He was selling himself short and so are you."

"There have to be candidates better-suited to this than me," Shepard insisted, "What about Jack? She already knows the school and no one cares about those students the way she does."

"But teaching is where her passion lies, and she'd be the first to admit she's not cut out for administration," Kahlee countered.

"I'm not sure she'd put it like that, but yeah…" Shepard sighed, "I just don't understand… why me?"

"Because I believe in you, because _he_ believed in you, just as strongly as you believed in him. Everything he ever did for you— giving you the Normandy, helping you escape lockdown, backing you when you were with Cerberus and after your arrest— no matter how ludicrous it seemed he never had any doubt about doing those things because he never had any doubt in you."

Shepard's hand tightened on the brim of her hat.

"I'm sorry Kahlee, I just can't."

The other woman's expression was understanding, but also undaunted, "All I'm asking is that you think about it, alright? I should get going, but I'll be in touch later to see if you've changed your mind. I could give you a ride if you want."

"No… thank you, but I should be able to make it back myself." Shepard offered her a smile, and her damp handkerchief.

"Keep it. Just make sure you stay dry this time," Kahlee replied, nodding when the commander settled the peaked cap on her head.

She retreated back toward the gate, leaving Shepard and Anderson alone in the park once again. The Commander knew she'd better find a way back to the hospital soon. All of Miranda's hard work would be in vain if Chakwas killed her for overstaying her leave…

Still, she found herself lingering before the statue.

"I know you'd want me to do it. Hell, I sentenced you to a much more onerous task when I recommended you for the Council…"

She was silent a moment, she and Anderson both.

"I'll do what I can for Grissom, sir… and for Kahlee."

Her face was wet again, even under the brim of her hat. She raised her hand in one final salute. His deep voice was ringing in her head, the sure optimism of his first words to her…

 _Shepard_ , _let's see what we can find._

And the raspy whisper of his last…

 _You did good, child. You did good._

 _I'm proud of you._

* * *

Steve Cortez absently tapped the wheel. They'd found a spot near the park, along with what seemed like every other skycar in the city of London, and he'd pulled up the service on the screen. The speeches had been drawn out, but the statue was a nice touch, and when it was finally Hackett who came to the podium everyone was all ears.

"Damn few!" James had roared at the screen when prompted, loudly enough to incite honks and a few hooyah's from the occupants of the cars parked nearby. They hadn't been able to squeeze everyone into the park, but the overflow in the streets was no less committed.

He himself had never known Anderson personally and he didn't think Miranda or her sister had either, but James had a history with the man. After Fehl Prime when he was wallowing on Omega, Anderson had picked him up, dusted him off, and put him to work guarding Commander Shepard. The Admiral had an eye for talent, no question about that…

Once the speeches had ended, the funeral procession exited the park and a stream of soldiers followed behind. Raindrops had begun splattering the windshield and the wind picked up. They waited, searching the face of every soldier that went by, listening for a ping on their omni-tools to indicate Shepard had activated her nav point.

Eventually the stream of attendees from the park ebbed, but still they waited. It wasn't like they were going anywhere— the skycars were still stuck in gridlock due to the congestion.

In the time they'd spent waiting, the car had gone silent. James had long since given up on trying to spark conversation and was instead slumped in his seat, staring out the window with an expression that signified one of his rare pensive moods.

In the back, Oriana was sitting with her arms crossed, occasionally shooting worried looks at her sister. Miranda ignored them, staring out her own window, brow knitted, looking vainly for a very particular figure in blue to emerge from amongst the raindrops.

The comm sounded so suddenly in the silence of the car that Cortez actually jerked.

"You read me, Cortez?"

He recovered from the startle instantly and jumped for it.

"That you, Commander?"

"Thought that was your nav point nearby," the familiar voice replied, "Any chance you could manage a pickup?"

"Always, Commander," he replied, "Give me your location and I'll be there before you know it."

"Negative— area's too hot. Guess they didn't anticipate all this much traffic, though I'm not sure why. I'll come to you."

"Copy that, Commander."

He shot James a relieved smile and started searching the area again in earnest. A minute later when they'd moved about another skycar length, a figure appeared walking along the line of vehicles.

"She's favoring her left leg…" Miranda murmured, no doubt already coming up with a half-dozen possible explanations and a dozen potential solutions.

Cortez shot out of the car and to attention. Maybe it was the way her red hair was neatly bound on the back of her head or maybe it was the addition of the peaked cap, but somehow she managed to look more indomitable than ever in the rain-slicked dress blues, gripping the omni-cane like a general of old might have gripped a saber.

"Good to see you, ma'am," he said simply, raising a salute.

"You too, Cortez," she replied, returning it, then reaching out to firmly grip his hand instead. And since she'd upped the ante, he figured he'd do the same, and pulled her into a firm hug, feeling her give his back an affectionate pat.

"Glad you made it out," she whispered genuinely, like she was ticking one more person off her list.

"You too, Shepard."

When they'd drawn apart, he pulled open the door to the back seat.

"There's a few more people here to see you, ma'am."

Shepard blinked in surprise, surveying the skycar's occupants.

"James? Miranda? Oriana?" she said with increasing disbelief.

"Get in Shepard, you're soaking wet," Miranda enjoined in a careworn tone. It sounded so strange on her...

Shepard complied, pushing in beside her so Cortez could shut the door and retake his seat. It was time to move another few feet anyway.

"What are you all doing here?"

"We're here for you, Commander. Doctor Chakwas asked us to pick you up and take you to Anderson's memorial," Cortez explained, pulling his own door shut behind him.

Realization dawned on Shepard.

"No kidding," she murmured, "I thought this was a solo mission…"

"Ain't no more solo missions, Lola," James replied in a low tone, still looking out the window, "Not anymore."

"Understood, James."

Shepard turned to Miranda and searched her expression.

"I figured you'd be mad at me…"

Miranda shrugged, "I knew this was important," she said, resting a hand on Shepard's wet knee.

Just then the traffic in front of them actually started to move again, no doubt bending to the immutable law of the universe where it was written that when Shepard arrived, things had to get better.

As they moved away, Shepard spared one more glance back at the park.

"We'll go again one day," Miranda promised, removing the wet hat from the her head before sweeping a few dampened locks off her face, "When the rain's passed."

Shepard nodded, and leaned back into the seat as they finally pulled up into the skyway and got underway.

* * *

When the three of them reached her room, James announced that he was going in search of a hot nurse, just in case they had any lingering concerns about whether he was back to his old self or not. Cortez had offered to run Oriana home, but she'd opted to wait with him in the skycar, and had been thoroughly engrossed in the omni-tool schematics Miranda had forwarded to her when they parted ways. That left the two of them, well and truly alone for the first time in months that had felt like years.

As she toweled off the remaining droplets from her uniform, Shepard's mind swam with questions. Did Miranda have lingering unease about Sanctuary? Where was she staying? Was her abdomen still marked with Kai Leng's assault, and were there new marks from the Battle for Earth? She wanted answers, wanted to ask for some and find others herself.

 _Did she still…_

Miranda drew wordlessly closer, and their chests met, and their hips met, and finally, their lips met. Shepard's eyes fell shut. In this too, there was an answer.

She felt fingers on the back of her thighs and realized with a start that she was being lifted, the prickling of mass effect fields faintly penetrating her uniform at every point of contact. Obligingly, she dropped the towel and hitched her legs over the slighter woman's hips, felt herself being maneuvered across the room. Miranda set her gently onto the bed before drawing away and immediately setting to work removing her dress shoes in a fashion that was entirely too businesslike for her tastes.

Sighing, Shepard closed her eyes and leaned against the woman before her.

"Bit of a tease tonight, aren't you?" she murmured into Miranda's shoulder.

"I'm just trying to take off your clothes— it's hardly my fault if you're getting distracted," Miranda hummed, nonetheless pausing to turn and place an absent peck on the commander's cheek before going on.

"Might I suggest a trade?"

"Not a chance."

Rising back to her full height, Miranda began to undo the buttons of the uniform coat. She hit a snag near the collar, fingers fumbling.

"Hold on, there's a trick to the fastener here," Shepard grunted, reaching up to undo the hidden clasp, "I think if I ever find the person who designed this uniform I might feed them to Kalros. I mean, _clearly_ a double row of concealed buttons was essential, but did they really need a chain on top of that? All I can say is that they better not expect me to get too used to wearing this thing…"

"Tell you what— you get used to wearing it and I'll get used to taking it off." Miranda pushed the coat up and over Shepard's shoulders.

Shepard's expression grew coy,"You were a Cerberus operative for how many years, and you expect me to believe your duties didn't include the occasional seduction of an Alliance officer?"

"They didn't used to," Miranda replied, diligently undoing the buckle at Shepard's waist. She gave Shepard's thigh a soft pat and the other woman sighed again, bracing against the bed and angling her hips so Miranda could slide the dress pants out from under her.

"Yep, just… give me a tap if you need me to do anything with my hips while you're down there," she grumbled as Miranda deftly slid the pants past her ankles.

"Maybe we should talk about something else," Miranda suggested, glancing up for a moment to fix the petulant commander with an amused smile before ducking back down to take a quick look at her right knee.

"Right… something else…" Shepard began idly removing the pins still holding the lion's share of her hair in place, "Was it different this time? Putting me back together?"

Miranda gently probed the area around the kneecap.

"Of course it was. The damage you took was nothing to sneeze at, but your malfunctioning cybernetics were the real problem. Less putting you back together and more trying to stop your body from tearing itself apart."

Shepard winced as Miranda's fingers found the spot that was tender, and the other woman made a quick note on her omni-tool but said nothing. Then she stood and stepped away a moment, retrieving a clean hospital gown from one of the nearby drawers, pointedly ignoring the dirty look Shepard was giving it.

She set it aside a moment, expression thoughtful, "…And of course last time I never had to have debates with myself over whether it was unprofessional to kiss you goodnight."

"Right— Lazarus was such a casual operation. I was probably getting goodnight kisses left and right. From Wilson, Jacob, the Illusive Man whenever he had time to call…"

"The hell you were. You were always _my_ project," Miranda insisted, reaching out to pull the undershirt up and over Shepard's head. Shepard undid the clasp of her bra and casually let it drop to the floor as if daring Miranda to leave it, which of course she did not.

"Here we are all these years later, I still am."

Setting aside the undershirt, Miranda paused. She was tempted to linger here, in this private moment where all that had transpired since they'd parted was on display— scars of war and surgery coexisting haphazardly beside the freckles she'd once so painstakingly recreated, but all of it belonging, all of it Shepard.

She found the most recent addition, a shallow incision that split Shepard's right side from the topmost rib to the tip of the pelvis. Her work, not the reapers'.

"I'm very dedicated," she responded, tracing the scar from end to end.

"I know. It meant a lot, to open my eyes and see you there."

"I'm glad you waited until I was there to open them. Seeing your eyes is one of the things I've missed most."

Their gazes met, and Miranda was convinced all over again.

"Miranda… my eyes, are they..."

"Original?" she provided, unfolding the gown to slip it over Shepard's head at last, "I suppose I should be flattered you have to ask. They aren't original, but I did spend nearly a month each getting them _just_ the right shade of green, so I'm glad you didn't let the reapers destroy them."

"Huh," Shepard chuckled, "You know, you guys could've just slapped in some nice baby blues and called it a day."

"Shepard, please," Miranda gave her a stern look, smoothing the hospital gown across her stomach, "I might have favored a control chip, but I wasn't going to compromise on those."

A soft knocking at the door interrupted them.

"Hey Sheila, we better _vamos_ pretty soon here," James' voice came muffled through the door.

"I'll be right out," Miranda called back.

"I'd better go," she added, turning back to Shepard, "If I stay in here with you much longer that man is going to be insufferable on the ride home. Then again, if it keeps his attention off Ori…"

Shepard cringed, "I thought I'd warned him off that."

"One reason to be grateful for Danner, I suppose."

"Danner?" Shepard made a face, "That oblivious dweeb from her history class? I'd root for James over _him_ any day."

Miranda raised a brow.

"Oh come on! James might not always know when to keep his mouth shut, but he's a damn good man, and a damn good soldier to boot."

The lines of skepticism in Miranda's face deepened, "Well then, by all means, toll the wedding bells. That's reason enough right there."

"Who said anything about wedding bells? I figured they'd just fool around a bit until history dweeb shows up."

Miranda's hands settled on her hips and she gave the marine a look.

"Come on, Miranda. James is easy-going, he's got skill in the kitchen and a good sense of humor, and he's got _heart_. Not to mention a _very_ sexy tattoo of my name on his inner-thigh…"

"It's easy to see why the two of you get along," Miranda remarked with a sigh, "You're both a pair of complete asses."

"Well, you know what they say about Lawson sisters and asses…"

She yelped as a precision biotic pulse found the tender spot at her side.

"Okay, okay! Look, if he gives you too much trouble, just smack him around a little. James always did respond best to a left hook," she offered.

"You'll forgive me if I stick to my own methods," Miranda countered with a smirk, stepping leisurely forward, "Your results don't exactly inspire much confidence, _Lola_..."

She'd reached the edge of the bed, Shepard's knees parting just enough to allow her, palms coming to rest on each thigh. At that proximity, it was a small matter to lean forward and close the rest of the distance between them, pressing her lips against Shepard's.

She'd only intended a quick peck, but somehow the kiss had lingered, and her hands had found their way to the junction of Shepard's shoulder and neck, Shepard's hands moving to encircle each of her biceps.

"Miss Lawson," Shepard murmured when their lips had parted, foreheads still close, breath on each other's breath, "how unprofessional..."

Miranda rolled her eyes and bumped her forehead against Shepard's chidingly, "I must admit, it was a bit of a livelier debate when you were unconscious."

"It's the eyes," Shepard assured her, "I hear they're downright irresistible. Must be tempting to just let me follow you home…"

The corner of Miranda's lips quirked,"Tempting? Yes. Ill-advised? Definitely. It may be too late for you to escape Dr. Chakwas' wrath at this point, but I'd prefer to stay in her good graces, thank you very much."

Shepard heaved a heavy sigh and Miranda gave her shoulders a squeeze, gently pushing her down onto the bed.

"Be patient— it won't be long now. Your cybernetics are reintegrating nicely and they haven't found a hospital yet that can hold Commander Shepard at full strength."

The soldier chuckled, "I have broken out of a lot of hospitals, haven't I? Plummeting asteroid hospitals, mech-ridden terrorist hospitals…"

"You had a little help with that one," Miranda noted, pulling up the blanket.

"Right. Where's my old buddy Wilson when I need him..."

"I meant me, you ass."

Miranda shook her head, letting one hand linger fondly at Shepard's clavicle.

"That was a long time ago, wasn't it," Shepard murmured, face growing suddenly pensive, "Everything's so different now…"

"Perhaps, but on our terms, remember?" she said, thinking of those last desperate words exchanged on the comm at ground zero.

"So you say, all evidence to the contrary," Shepard grumbled, shooting a sour look across the entirety of the hospital room.

"You'll just have to believe me."

Then Miranda placed a parting kiss on her lips, and she believed.


	3. I: Inventive Uses for Mass Effect Fields

_a/n- Thanks to everyone for your kind support thus far. This is the first of several interlude chapters I have planned for this story. Interludes are generally flashbacks taking place at various points during the main Mass Effect storyline. As our favorite salarian scientist has been known to say-_ _ **enjoy**_ _._

* * *

"Have you got a minute to talk?"

Mordin glanced up from his terminal, fingers still racing along the keys.

"Of course. Merely catching up on some professional correspondence. Called a colleague's work derivative. Colleague responded that _my_ work was derivative. Called his response derivative. Usual matters of academia," Mordin explained, chortling to himself.

Despite herself, Shepard felt her lips pulling into the first smile of the day. Maybe she'd just been overthinking this last niggling agenda item she'd left for the twentieth hour of a what was shaping up to be a twenty-hour cycle. Feeling heartened, she plunged ahead.

"I wanted to ask you about the message you sent me recently… concerning Miranda."

"Ah yes, 'Inventive Uses for Mass Effect Fields'. Excellent publication. Bit pedantic, but well-diagrammed. Was just discussing Reena T'vulu's latest paper on mass effect field dynamics with Miranda last week over breakfast. Should be light reading…after _that_."

"Yes, but Mordin, why did you send it to me?"

He paused just long enough to blink.

"Merely wished to facilitate healthy relations. Would have researched more, specifically in reference to you— impact of cybernetics, possible shortcomings of reconstructed body etc.— but, assumed Miranda had that well in hand."

Shepard stared blankly, having only partially absorbed everything he'd said after 'healthy relations'. She'd been expecting some bizarre explanation she could only half understand, not the obvious explanation which she could still only half understand. She sucked in a breath.

"Mordin, you do realize Miranda reads my messages…"

"No need for subterfuge. Sent a copy to her as well."

Shepard's brow shot up, "When?"

He completed a few keystrokes, "7:45 ship time, same as yours."

7:45— well before their usual debrief at 8:30. Which meant Miranda had also known. Which meant Miranda had also chosen to say nothing.

Shepard was trying to make up her mind about whether or not to read into that when Mordin cleared his throat.

"Shepard, salarians relatively short-lived species. Resolve issues quickly. No time to agonize. No time to equivocate. Considered callous by some, _calculating_ by others, as a result."

He paused, as if to ensure that she was still following him, "Soldiers, even _operatives_ , like salarians. Don't live long. You yourself, ironically, _living_ proof of this." Once again, he chortled to himself.

"Regardless, current situation could be rare instance of relationship which could be improved by salarian mindset. Suicide mission forthcoming. Even in unlikely event of survival, aftermath uncertain. See no reason to delay."

Shepard eyed him a moment, just to be sure he was being serious, before responding. "Thanks Mordin. That's… actually pretty good advice."

"Glad you think so. Miranda concurred."

Shepard raised a brow, "You've spoken to Miranda about this?"

"Indeed. Came by approximately two minutes after receiving message. Actually thought _I_ was making advances… awkward misunderstanding… suppose she receives such attention with great frequency… know how she feels," he muttered, sniffing.

Shepard's expression registered confusion.

Mordin indicated himself, "Possess various traits deemed… _desirable_ by other species. Not genetically designed, but do sympathize."

"I see," Shepard said, trying not to let her thoughts linger on the fact that Mordin was something like a salarian equivalent of Miranda Lawson, "Mordin, can I ask you something else?"

"Certainly," he replied decisively, "May need to do additional research, however. Reputable sources on female human mating process somewhat limited but asari literature may prove enlightening."

"No Mordin, not about that," Shepard clarified, "It's about Miranda. She's… well, she's a part of my team and I care about her a lot."

One sharp nod.

"But she's also extremely loyal to Cerberus. I've discussed this with… _certain_ other members of the crew, who have advised me to keep my distance."

"Ah. Yes, well…" Mordin coughed, "Garrus Vakarian good friend, but hardly unbiased source. Slow to trust, especially after experiences on Omega. Heavily-exposed to Cerberus crimes on original Normandy..."

"Also, very protective," he added, giving her a significant look.

"Okay, but you seem relatively unbiased," Shepard crossed her arms, "Would you mind giving me your take?"

His smile was genuine.

"Admire the woman. Could have used someone like her in STG. Intelligent, driven, resourceful— all salarian traits, you know. Oh, and flexible too, despite relative lack of cartilage in human skeletal structure. Hm… should have noted that in prior message," he added, looking a bit disappointed in himself.

"Mordin, you _did_ put something in your message about bugs. What I'm asking is whether you have any specific concerns," Shepard pressed.

"Ah… comment about bugs mostly extra precaution. Miranda dangerous, yes. Entire crew dangerous, with possible exception of Yeoman Chambers. Still trying to determine if secret Cerberus assassin plant…"

"Wait, you think Kelly might be an _assassin_?"

"Merely unsure of purpose. Highly inefficient system for monitoring messages…" he reasoned, shaking his head, "Regardless, Miranda now loyal to you. Respects you. Cares about you. Before, might have had _some_ concerns, though not for you…"

Shepard raised a brow.

"Garrus far from only protective one," he clarified, "More every day. Many on this ship. Would go to great lengths to defend you. Before, might have assessed this as threat. Now? Suspect Miranda may be one of them."

"I see," Shepard's tone was pensive, "Well, thanks again Mordin. I appreciate the feedback."

"Happy to help," he replied with a smile, "Regard for Shepard obvious. Immediate. But have also grown fond of Miranda. Maintains integrity, despite operating in moral grey area. Contribution to ship, to mission impossible to replicate. Work on Lazarus Project inspired. Had to be her— someone else might have gotten you wrong."

Shepard returned his smile, nodding once more before turning and heading out the doors to the CIC, determined to have a talk with her XO whether there was 'a lot to do' or not. She didn't expect to run into the woman just outside the door, adopting an impatient stance.

"Miranda?" Her eyebrows shot up.

"Ah, Operative Lawson," Mordin greeted from the lab. Without thinking, Shepard hurriedly took a half-step forward so the doors would swish closed behind her.

"Sorry, were you waiting to talk to Mordin?" she added a moment later, taking a step back so the doors would open again.

"Constant interruptions becoming tiresome, Shepard. Please decide if coming or going."

"I'm not here to talk to Mordin," Miranda clarified, "I've… already had a talk with him today. I'm here to talk to you."

"Right," Shepard replied, taking a step forward again so Mordin's door would close, "Well, we can go up to my cabin, or to your office if you prefer."

"Your cabin's fine. It's a bit more private than my office."

Nodding, Shepard led the way to the elevator, waving to Kelly as they passed.

"Hey there, Shepard," the cheery woman said, stifling a yawn, "No new messages for you."

She tried to imagine Kelly Chambers assassinating someone. It just wasn't happening. Miranda Lawson, maybe, though the scornful look on her face said she wouldn't be wasting her energy on this particular yeoman tonight. Shepard quickly stepped into the elevator just in case.

"Why did you come looking for me at Mordin's?" she asked casually.

"I asked EDI to tell me when you went to see him," Miranda admitted.

"But I go to see him all the time."

"More specifically, Operative Lawson asked me to inform her when you accessed messages on your console, before subsequently paying a visit to Dr. Solus' lab," EDI clarified.

"Yes, though she had to confirm that it still counted if you accessed your messages, walked over to my office to silently stand outside my door for forty-three-point-two seconds, then went to see Mordin," Miranda added, shooting her an amused look.

They had reached the top floor and the doors parted, first to the small foyer and then to the captain's cabin.

"In all honesty, I read Mordin's message this morning," Shepard admitted, leading Miranda over to the fish tank, "Just didn't get around to asking him about it until now."

"And I assume he gave you the same advice he gave me?"

She smiled wryly, "Told me to be more salarian."

"Right…" Miranda's gaze remained trained on the fish, possibly in an act of self-preservation, "And would you like that, Shepard? Would you want it?"

Shepard raised a brow, "Well I guess that would depend what _it_ is…"

Experimentally, she took a step closer to Miranda. Experimentally, Miranda stayed.

"I'm no good at this kind of thing, Shepard," her XO admitted, finally turning to face her, "I'm thirty-five years old, and I'm certainly no stranger to relationships with colleagues, but we're about five star systems past casual sex at this point."

"Hm… not like Joker to blow right by casual sex like that."

"Damnit Shepard, this is hard enough. Be serious."

Shepard turned to her, expression thoughtful, and noted that she didn't look away. They were close now, closer than they'd ever been, at least while Shepard was conscious.

"Well Miss Lawson, when we first met you told me that you weren't looking for a friend, and you just pre-emptively nixed any offer of casual, yet mind-blowing sex I might have extended… so what does that leave?"

Miranda's expression curved into a wry smile, "You're asking the wrong person."

Shepard eyed her narrowly, "I don't think I am."

Miranda laughed softly and shook her head, setting the dark waves of her hair in motion, a motion that Shepard told herself only resembled beckoning in her head. At this distance, she could smell something more subtle beneath the perfume Miranda always wore. It was probably her shampoo, but then again it would be _so_ easy to be sure…

"Alright Shepard, you tell me," Miranda was daring her, words and eyes both, "What _does_ that leave?"

There was only one answer to that. She leaned forward, and their lips met, cautiously, for the first time.

"Damnit," Shepard breathed when they drew apart, closing her eyes tightly, "I think I owe Garrus a thanix."

"You bet Garrus a thanix cannon?" Miranda's brow raised incredulously, "That we would what, kiss?"

Shepard evaluated her carefully a moment before responding, "Not that we would kiss, exactly…"

A flicker of understanding moved across that incisive gaze. Their eyes were locked, breath still coming a bit shorter.

"A thanix would give us a definite edge over the Collectors," Miranda murmured softly, "We should absolutely invest in one…" she placed an agonizingly brief kiss on Shepard's lips, "maybe two." And another.

"Right," Shepard felt her hands gravitate to the other woman's waist, just above her hips, "I'm going to have to mine some more platinu-"

Suddenly they were kissing again, more deeply this time, Miranda's arms encircling her neck. Already her lungs were burning, her heartbeat racing. She'd died this way once and here she was, halfway there again. Mordin was right, Miranda Lawson _was_ dangerous…

There was a soft thud as her shoulders connected with the fish tank.

"Shit." She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the glass wasn't cracked.

"Don't worry about it," Miranda said hurriedly, nudging Shepard's face back in line with her own, "Aquarium glass is always reinforced with mass effect fields—you're not going through it anytime soon."

Their lips grazed, then parted, then shot together again.

"Mn, sounds like…" Shepard felt the ghost of a tongue along her bottom lip and found herself actually leaning against the tank for support, "an inventive use for mass effect fields..."

"Didn't… didn't have a chance to read it yet," Miranda breath hitched as Shepard's lips ventured down her jaw, to the juncture of her neck, "Maybe something a bit more traditional this time?"

Shepard nodded, "Not up against the fish tank then." Her fingers had already made their way to Miranda's zipper.

"Well, there's the bed…" She began, sliding it down slowly, placing kisses along the path of flesh it revealed.

"The couch…" Her lips followed the curve of a breast, and the sudden arch of Miranda's back assuring her that the fabric of the bra did nothing to diminish her efforts.

"The shower…" Rib to rib down her quivering stomach.

"The desk…" Lingering at the jut of her hip bone.

"Mhmm," Miranda hummed distractedly, eyes fallen shut. Her fingers traced anxious paths through Shepard's hair.

"It's going to be the floor if you don't make up your mind, Miss Lawson," Shepard warned, voice muffled against bare skin. She'd fallen into a crouch, and paused where the zipper ended.

"Just… take me somewhere Shepard, I don't care where."

Shepard chuckled, "Careful with your words Miss Laws-"

She swallowed the rest of the quip. Miranda was giving her a look that said she knew exactly what she'd said.

Arms encircling Miranda's thighs just below the hip, Shepard lifted her, standing carefully, and the other woman took the opportunity to lean down and recapture her lips.

"I don't know what that leaves, Shepard, I don't know what this is," Miranda admitted when they finally drew apart, "But I'd like to find out."

Shepard nodded her agreement.

* * *

She navigated him into the room, double-checking to make sure the blindfold was on tight this time. The trick, as it turned out, had been tucking it under his mandibles…

"Look Shepard, if the big surprise is Tali, you're too late. I already ran into her trying to raid my stash of dextro-bars… scoped and dropped, I might add," Garrus said with a raspy chuckle.

"And while we're on the subject—oh, _spirits_." The blindfold fell to the floor.

For a moment, he just took it in, "Is that a thanix cannon? _Two_ thanix cannons?" Suddenly his gaze shot back to her.

"Wait, does this mean…?" his mandibles flicked, "Hm… I'm experiencing a lot of complicated emotions right now."

"I know the feeling, buddy," Shepard agreed.

His hawk-like gaze held hers for a moment.

"Just… be careful okay?"

"Don't worry, Garrus. Whatever happens, I know I've always got a turian I can rely on at my six, and now _he's_ got two massive reaper cannons."

"Right, which probably couldn't hit a star cluster at the moment," he sighed heavily, "These babies are going to need some serious calibration."

Shepard shook her head, smiling inwardly, "Am I ever going to see you again now that you've got these new guns?"

"I don't know, am I ever going to see _you_ again now that you've got a new girlfriend?" he countered, brow plates raising.

She gave him a look, turning on her heel, "Just don't be a stranger, Vakarian. That's an order."

"If you wanted someone to follow orders maybe you should have picked a better turian," he called after her.

"Haven't found one yet," she replied, ducking out of the battery.


	4. The Terrifying Prospect of a Promotion

_A/N: Hi all- still here. Sorry for the delay in getting this update out. Thanks as usual for reading and reviewing, and a special thanks to the anon who tipped me off that I somehow forgot to categorize this fic properly. Should be fixed now! Happy N7 Day :)_

* * *

"How long before I can get out?"

"From what I'm told, you've been out," Chakwas replied, fixing Shepard with a reproving look, "Really, you couldn't have been just a little patient? I told you to trust me."

"I did trust you. I trusted you to enable me to go off on my own. And now I'm trusting you to do it again."

"Oh right. My plan was to leave a pressed uniform on the counter and hope you could escape the hospital and make it halfway across the city on your own," the doctor grumbled, "Now, Miranda mentioned in her message that your knee was bothering you?"

"It's fine. I'm fine."

Chakwas located the sore spot with no trouble, eliciting a surprised yelp from the Commander.

"I knew this would happen. One taste of freedom and you're impossible," she muttered, noting something on her datapad.

"A taste of something…"

Chakwas merely shot the grinning marine another reproachful look before turning back to her datapad.

"I assume the fact that you're here at all is entirely due to Miss Lawson. Thank god you had the sense to select a mate with more sense than you, Jane Shepard."

"Here, here," Shepard replied, holding aloft an invisible glass of Serrice Ice Brandy, "Oh, I forgot to mention, did you notice that they brought me the wrong uniform?"

"You'd better have a talk with Admiral Hackett before you go assuming any mistakes were made, and that's all I'll say on the subject."

Shepard shrugged, nonchalantly activating her omni-tool and scrolling through the latest news bulletins.

"I see you've reactivated your omni-tool…" the doctor continued, not even bothering to scold her. She set aside her datapad and began gently kneading the flesh around Shepard's knee.

"I needed it to escape the hospital and make it halfway across the city."

"Yet your messages are still disabled…" she noted.

Shepard glanced down at her, and nodded slowly. Chakwas gave her kneecap a gentle pat, then returned to her work. She would say no more on that subject either.

"By the way, I'm going to be out again this afternoon," she mentioned at length, "And don't even think about jaunting off. This time the nurses _will_ be checking up on you…"

"You certainly spend a lot of time going out these days," Shepard remarked.

Chakwas scoffed, "Yes, well, believe it or not you're not the only thing that needs putting right these days."

"Just your favorite then?"

"That," Chakwas replied evenly, "I will readily admit."

* * *

Shepard sighed dramatically to the empty room, deactivating her omni-tool. There was more news, of course. There was always more news. But her ability to focus on the stories was gradually waning, and not at all in proportion to the size of her reading queue.

She'd been conscious of being stuck in this room for what, a few days now, and already she couldn't stand it.

She'd wished for a quick extraction on more than one occasion— any kind would do. An enormous shadow would fall across the bed and she'd look out the window to see Grunt extending a muscular arm to pull her out after him; Kasumi would materialize in the nearby chair, swinging an unfamiliar OSD on her finger; Liara's voice would emerge from what only _appeared_ to be a medical waste bin mounted on the wall, instructing her to walk down the hallway and enter the third door on the left for further instructions; she'd hear the distant buzz of a Cision Pro Mark 4 approaching down the hall; Garrus would appear at the door with two bottles of dual-chirality wine and a rifle slung over each shoulder, explaining that the calibrations were done, he'd reevaluated his views on fighting in hospitals, and he was in the mood for some down time; Zaeed would shove open the door, come lumbering into the room and tell her to _get the fuck up, we're goddamn leaving_ …

Then again, there was also the possibility that Miranda would saunter in, lock the door behind her and make her never want to leave again.

She sighed again. Wishful thinking…

Fantasies aside, she was well aware that her anxiety wasn't simply a matter of boredom. There were things they weren't telling her, that much was obvious. And while it was understandable that they didn't want to launch into an explanation of everything at once, deliberately and obviously tip-toeing around things that came up in the natural course of conversation was another matter entirely.

The mystery of her new dress blues was the most easily solved, but also the least distressing. With the war over, she knew she was going to have to face the terrifying prospect of a promotion sooner or later.

"Dunno how you did it, sir," she muttered, wishing a message from Anderson would show up telling her to _'get going'_ and she'd walk out to find everyone else in the hospital reeling on the floor, sporting black eyes.

Okay, maybe that one was going a bit far…

The main mystery that was giving her unease was, of course, the one she was finding it most impossible to guess at. The thing James had been working his way towards when Miranda had given him _the look_.

It was something about Miranda, James had managed to say that much. Something Chakwas knew about too, it seemed.

Frowning, Shepard reactivated her omni-tool. She pulled up ARS, the Alliance Record System, noting with interest that her Alliance-granted permissions now superseded those of her Spectre status.

She typed _Lawson, Miranda_ into the search box, waiting while it queried the relevant databases.

Miranda's record was quite a bit longer than when last she'd checked. It seemed the former Cerberus operative had been somewhat more cooperative with Alliance officials than one might have expected. Skimming through, Shepard came at last to the most recent additions to the record.

Eyes widening, she read back over the last paragraph carefully, then shoved aside the record to check the date and time before retrieving and rereading it once more. Rapidly, she activated her comm.

"Cortez, this is Shepard. You on duty?"

"Yes ma'am. I'm over in the West River Hangar doing some maintenance. Was just thinking about heading over to the garage though to double-check the seals on the skycar in case we get more rain like we got yesterday."

"The seals can wait, Cortez. I need a pickup. I'll get out to the loading zone."

"At the hospital? Are you sure-"

"Now, Lieutenant," she confirmed.

"Yes ma'am, be there soon. ETA from here is 15 minutes."

Shepard pushed off the bed and padded over to the cabinet where her dress blues were hanging. It looked suspiciously like one way or another the bastards were going to get her used to wearing this damn thing after all.

* * *

Karin Chakwas placed a comforting hand on Oriana's arm.

"I should probably return to my seat," she said gently.

"And you're still certain it wouldn't help for me to testify? I can tell them exactly what was going on at Sanctuary," the younger woman offered, not for the first time.

"The advocate seems quite certain they'd simply discount you as a biased source. We'll just have to trust that they've read your statement and come to the appropriate conclusions on their own."

Oriana frowned, shaking her head, "It just doesn't make sense. I've been reading up on galactic jurisprudence and there's a good deal of precedent for accepting the testimony of family members on matters of fact rather than character. Just recently in _Rannadril Ghan Swa Fulsoom Karaten Narr Eadi Bel Anoleis v. Hanshan Port Authority_ it was found that-"

"Miss Laws- Oriana, dear, this is an Alliance military hearing. The admirals are under no obligation to abide by even the most rigorously established Council case law; they probably know less about it than you do at this point," Chakwas said, drawing a deep breath.

"That isn't necessarily a bad thing," she continued, seeing the look of concern her statement had elicited, "It just means we need to appeal to their reason on a less formulated level, and as soon as they give me leave to speak I intend to do just that."

Oriana nodded, "Thank you, Doctor…for everything."

"If anyone can get 'em to listen, Doc can," James added from where he was seated on her other side, "Shepard might be the CO, but everybody knows who the real power on the Normandy is. And all these years of patchin' up Shepard and the rest of the superheroes means she don't mess around neither."

"Thank you James, I couldn't have put it better myself," Chakwas replied, giving Oriana one last bolstering glance before getting back onto her feet. That was one Lawson sister reassured. Smoothing her dress blues, she headed in the direction of the other one.

Miranda was sitting beside her advocate, and as she took a seat behind them, she caught the end of their conversation.

"-must ensure Admiral Morita's motion for a public hearing fails. In the court of public opinion, we're starting from a terrible deficit. People hear the word Cerberus these days and they go for their pitchforks. If that motion carries, there's only one person who might be able to win you a favorable outcome-"

"I've already told you, that's not an option," Miranda replied decisively, "I understand that their love for her is the only thing that rivals their hatred for Cerberus, but I am _not_ going to be the one to muddy those waters."

Before the man could respond, there were three sharp cracks from the gavel and Hackett's voice filled the courtroom.

"Admirals, I believe we're ready to reconvene," he said, glancing down the line of his colleagues, "Miss Lawson, are you ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. Admiral Morita, I believe when we left off you had the floor."

"Thank you, Admiral," the young officer stood, "Once again, I move that this hearing be brought to the public stage. Despite their grand delusions, Cerberus was not a military but a terrorist organization, one whose crimes far exceeded the military theater. All too often it was the public who were their victims, and it is in that realm that they should be exposed and prosecuted."

There were several nods of concurrence going down the line of admirals. Others remained stony-faced.

"The accused was a top-ranking Cerberus officer for nearly twenty years, reporting directly to the Illusive Man," he continued, "The brief I passed around before our latest recess details her role as head of the Lazarus Project, illegally procuring Commander Shepard's body and grossly violating any number of regulations, both Alliance and Council, for the treatment of human remains-"

"Perhaps the admiral would have preferred I had left Commander Shepard dead?" Miranda interjected.

"Miss Lawson, please," Hackett responded, "You'll be given the opportunity for a rebuttal after Admiral Morita finishes."

Morita folded his hands before him, "As I was saying, when Project Lazarus concluded Miss Lawson was the most senior Cerberus operative serving aboard the Normandy SR-2, ostensibly under the command of the revived Commander Shepard. She continued to report to the Illusive Man, and there is evidence that her attempts to manipulate the Commander into furthering Cerberus goals included a relationship of an intimate nature."

Whispers broke out among the admirals, along with faces both blanched and reddened, expressions of disbelief and expressions of outrage. Several flipped hastily through the brief on the datapad before them.

Hackett banged the gavel once more, calling for silence.

"Admiral Morita, are you certain the evidence supports what you're implying?" he said, throwing the younger man an appraising glance.

"I am, and moreover, I-"

The doors in the back of the room swished open, and the words died in his throat. The rest of the admirals seemed similarly shocked. The hearing's attendees slowly turned, one-by-one, to see what had ruffled the previously unflappable admiral.

Not everyone had met the figure that strode down the central aisle of the hearing chamber, but every single one of them knew her. Leaning on an omni-cane, she came to a halt at the row where Oriana was seated.

"Shepard," Hackett said, voice thick, "Your seat is up here."

He threw a significant glance at the attending guards, who raced out of the room and returned a moment later with another chair.

"If you don't mind sir, I prefer to stand," Shepard replied, "Stiff knee, you know…"

The guards carrying the chair halted, glancing at each other uncertainly.

"Your seat will be here, regardless," Hackett clarified, gesturing for them to place it beside the others.

"I apologize for my lateness," Shepard continued, voice tight, keeping her eyes on the admirals and her back to the other attendees, "I've recently learned that I'm embarrassingly under-informed about my own duties, and I aim to correct that starting now."

"No apology necessary, Admiral," Hackett replied, "I must admit that I wasn't aware you'd returned to duty, but we'll do everything we can to bring you up to speed. Perhaps Admiral Morita would reiterate his last point…"

Hackett tossed her a datapad, but Morita still hadn't found his voice, so she read it in silence. She paced the front of the courtroom as she read, not a single reaction or emotion showing on her face, just the _tap, tap, tap_ of her omni-cane striking out the seconds of silence. After a few minutes of this, she paused, and lowered the datapad.

"I-"Morita began at last, then that green gaze flickered onto him and he grew silent again.

The man was one of a handful of recent appointees to the Admiralty, the legacy of the power vacuum left by the war and the destruction of Arcturus in particular. He was fresh-faced and passionate, headstrong and untested and eager to make his mark in administration as he had in the field.

And all that withered in the unyielding face of the only admiral newer to the position than he. Admiral 'Commander Shepard', sporting the lingering scars of the greatest battle the galaxy had ever known, walking with a limp given to her by reapers.

"I…" he tried again, "We need to take a hardline stance on Cerberus!"

Shepard raised a brow, "Admiral…Morita was it? Are you familiar with the Cerberus war criminal Oleg Petrovsky?"

"I am," the man nodded firmly, " It was this very body that prosecuted him."

"And by prosecuted, you mean sentenced to ten years probation with the option to appeal."

"General Petrovsky's crimes were committed outside our jurisdiction, outside Council jurisdiction," he bristled, "We had very little ground on which to charge him."

Shepard chuckled, a low, dangerous sound, "Admiral, the data on my hardsuit computer alone would have put that man away for life in any other courtroom in the galaxy."

"But this isn't any other courtroom, is it?" she went on, "It's a god-damned tribunal, just a bunch of admirals doing whatever the hell they want."

"Damnit Shepard, for all that you get results you always did have a hell of a time focusing on the objective," Tadius Ahern, the erstwhile commander of Pinnacle Station spoke up, "We can point a mirror at our institutional inadequacies some other time. What we want out of this hearing is something simpler— the truth."

"Right…the truth," Shepard replied, "Well then, let's start with the facts. It's true that Miranda Lawson joined Cerberus, as a number of reasoned, principled people did before the organization and its founder went off the deep end. I suspect many of us in this room would have sympathized with their motivations— a desire to advocate for humanity, _frustration_ with bureaucratic inefficiency…"

"Don't try to whitewash this, Shepard," Admiral Mikhailovich growled, in the same cantankerous tone he always employed, "I'm all for furthering human interests but this is an organization that murdered an Alliance admiral. Reports of them experimenting with rachni, thorian creepers, and thresher maws predate the period when they 'went off the deep end' as you put it."

"Before you lecture me on the contents of those reports you might want to double-check the name at the bottom of them," Shepard replied, still as prepared to handle him as she'd been the day they met, "Trust me Admiral, you won't find a single person in the galaxy better-acquainted with Cerberus' crimes than I am. And yes, Admiral Kahoku was callously murdered by Cerberus agents, _after_ spending his last days stonewalled by Alliance and Council officials alike."

There was a murmur of discussion among the admirals. There wasn't a soul on that board who didn't know exactly what Kahoku had been through. You didn't make the brass without learning the meaning of being sidelined by the brass.

"But getting to _this_ ," Shepard held the datapad aloft, "The accusations in this datapad primarily relate to the period of time when Miranda Lawson was serving as XO of the Normandy SR-2, under _my_ command. So why is it that the board is directing its questions to my executive officer, to my _ship's doctor_?" she indicated Chakwas, but kept her eyes locked on the admirals.

"Admiral Morita, your argument relies on the assumption that I was somehow duped or manipulated, an assumption which I can tell you is absolutely false. I was the Commanding Officer of the Normandy SR-2, _period_. Is my word enough, or do you have further objections?"

"I don't see how-"

"Yes or no, Admiral?" Shepard barked, pacing again, "I feel like we're back to the question of whether reapers exist. Now either my word is good enough for this Admiralty Board or it's not."

"No, ma- er… Admiral," Morita cringed, "Your word is good."

"Good," Shepard gave one sharp nod, "With that cleared up, I request that going forward, if you have questions as to the conduct of my ship or my crew, you direct them to me, a courtesy any Alliance officer would expect."

"So," Shepard paused, gazing down the line, " _Do_ you have questions, Admiral? Admirals?"

Her question was met with silence. She heard Ahern's raspy chuckle. Deliberately, she set the datapad back on the table with its brethren.

Clearing his throat, Hackett leaned forward, folding his hands across the desk, "Shepard is correct. The right to be consulted on matters regarding one's ship and one's crew is every Alliance officer's prerogative, and one I'm sure the rest of the board will agree we can extend in this case. That leaves the matter of Miss Lawson's involvement with Cerberus prior to being assigned to the Normandy."

Shepard's grip on the omni-cane tightened, and taking a deep breath, she began again.

"It's an indisputable fact that Miranda Lawson served the Illusive Man with absolute loyalty for nearly two decades, and my personal opinion that she was among his greatest assets. It is my firm belief, as I've already stated, that she joined the organization with the best of intentions, and a matter of fact that when she learned the true depth of its corruption she turned from that path and never looked back."

"Truth be told," Shepard added wryly, "Her resignation from Cerberus preceded my own."

More whispers from the admirals.

"It also preceded the emergence of the reapers from dark space," Shepard went on, "and since that time, Miranda Lawson has put every ounce of her considerable energies into opposing Cerberus, and the reapers. I presume this board has seen the report from Captain Reynolds detailing her anti-Cerberus activities-"

"Enough," Morita stood, and suddenly the words were pouring out of him, "Cerberus betrayed the Council, betrayed the entire galaxy. They slaughtered our men and twisted their own. Someone has to answer for that. You said it yourself, Admiral, in the Alliance the buck stops at the commanding officer, so why then does this Cerberus officer get a pass?"

Shepard heard the sincerity behind his words, the pain. She wondered how many men under his command had enlisted to fight marauders and banshees only to fall to nemeses and phantoms instead.

When she began again, her tone was gentler, "Cerberus was a dream for Miranda Lawson and so many others. On Gellix, I rescued a team of scientists just like her— brilliant, idealistic people who gave up everything they had to escape when that dream became a nightmare. Those were the people who helped us build the crucible. Those were the people that took up arms and fought by our side against Cerberus and the reapers alike."

"But that doesn't change what they did," Morita persisted, "There's a price that needs to be paid!"

"By all means then, continue to single-mindedly pursue your righteous vengeance," Shepard said, slamming her palm on the table, "Burn the bridges we've built, because what could be more important than _settling the score_."

Her eyes raked across the admirals once more.

"Come to think of it," she added, "the Hegemony's looking pretty fragile these days, and I think we still owe the Primacy a few shots."

"But how can we just let this go?" Morita demanded.

"Because Admiral," Shepard intoned firmly, "it's the only way forward."

The room was silent, all eyes on the figure standing before the board. She seemed suddenly tired, leaning against the table in addition to her omni-cane. When her voice emerged again, it was weary as well.

"There's no denying Miranda Lawson's role in Cerberus, but you're lying if you tell yourself this is anything other than a witch-hunt. She's not here because of what she's done—she's here because she's the one you managed to get your hands on, she's the one you can throw to the lions. The rest are all too inconsequential or inconvenient or dead."

Once again, Hackett cleared his throat and the assembled faces turned to him.

"There's no question that Miss Lawson will have to answer for her history with Cerberus one way or another," he began, his deep voice resonating throughout the chamber, "But I for one believe Shepard is right—when the axe came down, Miranda Lawson was on the right side of it. And I'm certain there are more fruitful ways for her to serve humanity than as a scapegoat."

Hackett allowed them a moment of discussion, but the writing was on the wall and soon he called for silence again, pressing forward.

"I move that Admiral Morita's motion for a public hearing be dismissed. Any objections?"

He glanced across the table. Not a single soul on the board spoke. Even Morita's face seemed oddly conflicted.

"Very well. In that case we'll adjourn for now, unless any of the other admirals have anything to add?"

"I suppose now is as good a time as any," Shepard put in, stretching stiffly, "I'm sorry to say that I intend to decline the promotion to admiral."

She removed her hat, tossing it onto the table before the seat that would have been hers. The board exploded with the objections that had been absent before, along with a few gasps and heated side conversations.

"Shepard, wait," Hackett's voice rose above them, expression stern, "Don't be hasty. This isn't the time or the place to make that decision."

"Then I apologize sir," she replied, heading for the exit, refusing to meet Chakwas or Miranda or anyone else's eyes.

"Clearly I'm not cut out to be an admiral," she added in a tight voice, pausing half-way down the aisle, "Because frankly sir, I can't stand this kind of bullshit."

Then she was gone, leaving the stunned chamber and soon the entire building behind her.

Cortez was waiting outside, leaning against the skycar. He snapped to attention when she emerged from the main entrance.

"Ready to get out of here, ma'am?"

"You have no idea how ready, Cortez."

She got into the back seat, gripping her thigh above the throbbing knee. When were Miranda and Chakwas planning to do something about it, anyway? Their combined medical opinion seemed to be 'poke it until she makes a face'. Not that she wanted to think about either of those two now. Not after what had just transpired.

"Hope you gave 'em hell, ma'am," Cortez said simply, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

She nodded, but didn't say any more.

"Back to the hospital, then?" The fact that he was even asking showed a prescience she hadn't expected but appreciated immensely nonetheless. Before she could reply, however, the far passenger door opened and another figure in blue ducked into the car.

"Admiral Hackett, sir," Cortez acknowledged, scrambling to turn and salute at the same time.

"Go ahead Lieutenant, we aren't waiting for anyone else."

"Yes, sir."

The skycar lifted into the air and Admiral Hackett settled into the seat beside her, the hat she'd abandoned back in the hearing chamber resting on his knee.

"Hell of a powder keg you lit up in there, Shepard. Too bad you didn't stay to watch it go off."

"Sir, if there's one reason I've made it this far, it's because I get out before the explosions go off, particularly if I'm the one that set them."

Hackett chuckled, resettling his own hat on his head, "It's good for them. Whip the young ones into shape and keep the old ones from gathering moss."

"Sorry for the interruption sir, but where are we headed?" Cortez asked.

"Somewhere we can talk," he replied, picking up the hat and shifting it onto Shepard's knee, "the _Admiral_ and I have a lot to discuss."

If Cortez was surprised, he said nothing.

"There's a little pub by the British Museum that's supposed to be good," Shepard said, shooting the nav-point to Cortez, "But anywhere other than that damn hospital is fine with me, sir."

"I know the place— been there with Anderson if I recall correctly," Hackett nodded, "Good beer. Great fish and chips."

"Good. Lieutenant Cortez loves fish and chips."

Cortez gulped, clearly daunted by the notion of finding himself eating fish and chips between two admirals, even if one of them was Shepard, who only knew about his love for the dish because he'd mentioned it in the course of getting completely smashed at her house party. That she could remember anything from that night in that much detail was both impressive and a little disconcerting…

"Besides," Shepard was muttering, "I need to build up my tolerance. Now that the reapers are gone, I'm owed quite a few drinks..."

"Then I'll be the first to pay up," Hackett announced.

They rode in silence a moment before he spoke again.

"Before we get onto other things, there's something I'd like to get out of the way," he turned to her with an unreadable expression, "Normally I'd consider the private life of my officers none of my business, but in this case I need to be sure I have all the facts straight. Have you ever been, or are you now in a relationship of a personal nature with Miranda Lawson?"

"I have been, and I am now," she affirmed, meeting his gaze unflinchingly, "and I will be, sir."

"Understood," Hackett nodded, expression intent but unsurprised, "In that case, you'll have to recuse yourself if the board takes a vote, though I doubt it will come to that at this point. Since the motion for a public hearing failed, it lands back on my desk until I decide what to do with it."

Shepard paused, "What _are_ you likely to do with it, sir? If you don't mind my asking…"

Hackett shook his head, "I honestly don't know, Shepard. Miss Lawson's case is complicated. I'll need to review all of relevant documents and discuss it with a few of the other admirals. You can rest assured that we'll find an equitable solution, and I will keep you informed."

Shepard nodded, though the grip on her leg tightened. She found herself pondering possible dimensions of the word equitable, trying to decide if it reassured her or not. She knew Hackett was fair, and principled. Now she just had to reconcile herself to the possibility that in this case that might not work in their favor.

"Knee's really giving you trouble, eh?" Hackett's words interrupted her musings, "Or is it the cybernetics?"

"If I sit too long it gets stiff, if I stand on too long it gets sore. That's all I know, sir."

"You're certain Dr. Chakwas wouldn't object to your going out, ma'am?" Cortez ventured, hoping Admiral Hackett wouldn't think him out of line.

"Didn't you hear, Lieutenant?" Shepard replied, resting her elbow on the window and leaning against her fist, "For the moment at least, I outrank her."

* * *

"The omni-cane wasn't bad enough? Is this some kind of punishment for showing up at the hearing last week?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Chakwas replied crisply, navigating the hoverchair along the path of the hospital courtyard, "If anything, it would be a punishment for spending the next several hours carousing in a pub."

" _Carousing_? I was with Admiral Hackett! There was some hard talk and a steely gaze or two, but definitely no carousing."

"Clearly you've never been to the Officer's Holiday Ball. You wouldn't believe the things egg nog does to that man," Chakwas chuckled, "In any case, you asked to go outside and these are my terms. We have every indication that the surgery was a success, but that's no reason to go jeopardizing your knee on a lark."

Shepard shifted restlessly in the chair, "If Joker finds out about this he's going to laugh his ass off. He's been dealing with Vrolik's Syndrome his whole life and he wouldn't be caught dead in one of these things."

"Jeff _has_ one of these things, as you put it. It's known as the Normandy and he's nearly been caught dead in it on several occasions."

Shepard scoffed, "Only nearly, eh? Lucky guy…"

She repositioned herself again, trying to get comfortable. At least she had finally graduated to casual civvies and her N7 hoodie, which she knew was hers because it still had the fraying on the sleeve where one of those CAT-6 bastards had nailed her in the sushi restaurant.

Seeing it in Chakwas' hands that morning had felt like reuniting with an old friend, and with it had come a packet of other items as well. Her old dogtags, the model Normandy, and a message from Joker saying he had tried to send the hamster but it wouldn't stay in the box. He reassured her that the husk head, of all things, was still functioning and could keep the little guy company in the meantime. He hoped she'd be by to visit it soon. She hoped so too.

"Still can't believe you didn't say anything to me…" Shepard said at length.

Chakwas sighed, and they rolled along the path a ways more before she replied, "You'd only been conscious on and off for a few days at that point, it wasn't as if this was some elaborate conspiracy. Regardless, I was respecting Miss Lawson's wishes. She didn't want your own history with Cerberus dragged out into the spotlight or for your reputation to suffer."

"To hell with that. I've got reputation to burn," Shepard grumbled, "In fact, I'd be perfectly happy if everyone liked me just a little bit less."

"I must say, I doubt you'll make much headway on that front by speaking truth to power, Commander," Chakwas replied fondly, "As for Miss Lawson, she's trying to find her place in this new world, as we all are. Just don't be too hard on her."

Shepard was about to reply when she heard the sound of retreating footsteps and turned just in time to catch sight of Dr. Chakwas making her way back up towards the hospital, where James had appeared. With a shake of her head, she returned her gaze to the path before her, waiting as the sound of a different set of familiar footfalls drew nearer.

In the distance, James looked on.

"You think they're gonna be okay?" he said as the doctor arrived beside him.

"They'll be fine," Chakwas replied, "No matter what happens, the two of them can virtually always say they've been through worse."

"Yeah, I guess," he squinted, eying the figures in the distance, "Still, seein' Shepard go after the entire Admiralty Board like that? Can't say I envy Miranda…"

"Oh, it won't be anything like that," Chakwas said with a small smile, "In my experience, Shepard reserves that tone exclusively for misbehaving admirals. This sort of thing isn't about bringing someone over to one position or another. It's about finding somewhere to meet in the middle, which can be a good deal harder."

James adopted a wry smile, "I'm guessin' Miranda's not gonna sit quietly this time either."

"No. This time, I expect she'll have quite a lot to say," Chakwas agreed, sparing the pair one more look before gesturing James back towards the doors to the hospital.

Back down in the courtyard, Miranda wordlessly took over the pushing of the hoverchair. They reached the far end of the path without speaking, so she turned them down the next.

"You still think you have to do everything on your own."

She maneuvered the chair around a particularly ambitious rosebush. She'd been wondering which of them would be the first to break the silence.

"It was like this during the war," Shepard went on, "Never say as much as you could, never accept as much help as you should…all I know is that you're on the run and there are assassins after you— lots of them— including one very tenacious bastard with a damn _sword_ who neither of us can seem to bring down. And when I do finally find you it's in some reaper-infested hellhole with your lunatic of a father, not because you finally asked for help when you needed it, but because of dumb luck and one _very_ smart Comm Specialist…"

The silence returned, as Miranda absorbed Shepard's words. She had no intention of arguing the point— it was fairly made. She did, however, have a few things to add.

" _You_ still seem to think you have to lead every charge."

It seemed Shepard also wasn't in the mood to be throwing out objections, and her silence prompted Miranda to go on.

"During our mission against the collectors you switched out your squad, gave this person time to rest and that one time to think, but you took point on every mission. Whether you were sick or injured or exhausted, whether it was a derelict reaper or an errand on the Citadel…" Miranda trailed off, pausing while a soldier being helped by a nurse limped by them, "If you were completely incapacitated the mission waited, but it never waited long, and if my information is correct, the war was much the same. I was the only one to ever say no to you then, and I still am."

"I don't want you fighting this alone," Shepard said.

"And I don't want you fighting it for me," Miranda countered, "I want you recovering. I want you back. I've been waiting so long, Shepard."

She saw the other woman's shoulders sag, "It's not going to matter if the Admiralty Board locks you up."

Miranda frowned, eyes tracing a vine of ivy meandering up the wall on the edge of the courtyard, "I have no intention of letting that happen."

The bent shoulders stiffened and Miranda prepared herself for the real debate, the real topic they needed to discuss.

"Shepard, listen," she went on, determined to set the tone, "I submitted to this hearing for a reason. I want to go about this the right way if I can. You have no idea how much I'd love to be able to sit across from your colleagues at dinner or keep you company through the boring ceremonies they'll be making you put on that uniform for…"

She paused a moment, wishing she could see Shepard's face. The back of the woman's head wasn't giving much away.

"That said, I have no intention of allowing them to make me a scapegoat."

Another moment of silence. She waited.

"I figured you'd say that," Shepard replied at last, "I've been putting some thought into it and I think our best bet would be a frontier colony— somewhere remote, somewhere obscure, preferably mostly habitable…"

Miranda fell silent, not certain she was properly understanding. Shepard was already going on.

"Then again, you were born on Earth so I'd understand if you wanted to try to find a place there to hide out under their noses. I've heard some of the last open spaces left are in Australia..."

Miranda shook her head, trying to regroup. This wasn't the conversation she'd rehearsed in her head for a far larger portion of the night before than she cared to admit.

"Are you saying you'd leave?"

"I'm saying _we_ would, yes."

"You'd leave everything behind, just like that? After finally winning it all back from the reapers?"

Shepard inclined her head to glance back, "The important thing I would be taking with me."

Miranda looked away, casting a bitter frown into the distant scenery, "I wish you'd had that attitude after Aratoht…"

"You know that was different," Shepard replied impatiently.

Miranda took a moment before responding, "Need I mention that it would be far easier to hide _without_ the famous Commander Shepard tagging along?"

 _Like so many things_ , _easier to accomplish, harder to see the point_ , a voice in her head provided.

"What did I say about doing everything on your own? We're in this together Miranda, and if you don't help me out here, I'm not going to have much choice but to lead the charge," Shepard pointed out.

Miranda knew a challenge when she heard one.

"I…" she gathered her thoughts, "With the dispersion from the war, I don't think there's many places left on Earth to hide, even in Australia."

"It's a shame you hate Omega so much," Shepard mused, "Aria owes me a few favors…"

Miranda decided that, for the moment, it was better not to ask how Shepard had managed to land the Queen of Omega in her debt, let alone when the two of them had gotten onto a first name basis.

"Omega?" she replied instead, nose wrinkling, "Not remote or obscure, not nearly as much as its citizens would like to believe, anyway. I'm not even sure I'd call it _habitable_ , to be honest. We'd certainly disappear, if not in the way we intended."

She left unspoken the additional fact that Omega had far more batarians than she'd ever trust near Shepard again.

"Frontier colony it is then," Shepard pushed on, adopting a thoughtful expression, "I bet I could learn to fix a combustion manifold."

Miranda scoffed, "Perhaps if there were innocent lives on the line."

"Well if I couldn't, I bet _you_ could. There's gotta be a combustion manifold banging around in here somewhere," Shepard said, thumping her chest, "And if you're going to be the working stiff I guess that leaves me to bag a space cow every night for our supper. 300 yards seems fair, don't you think?"

"No."

She could see the grin on Shepard's face even from here. Snipers were just too damn easy.

Shepard was already going on, "I could throw away the rest of that horrible uniform, though I think I'd hang onto this hoodie. Couldn't wear it in public of course, but for private occasions…"

"If it's a private occasion it had better be all you're wearing," Miranda put in softly, feeling in herself no small measure of the stirring her words had been intended to evoke in Shepard.

"This could work, Miranda. We just need to find somewhere out of the way. We'll sit under the stars and blast Nielsen's Fifth at full volume. We'll tame the local thresher maws. And every year we'll celebrate your birthday on a different day, so you never see it coming!" Shepard vowed, slamming a fist on the chair's arm as if daring some admiral to contradict her.

Miranda fought to control the grin spreading across her face. Emotionally stunted people were just too damn easy. Especially for someone like Shepard, who collected them and put them back together as devotedly as she did the model ships in her cabin. Speaking of which…

"You'd never be able to see your friends, your old squad…" she ventured.

"You'd never be able to see Oriana…"

Miranda closed her eyes tightly. It was a painful thought.

"At least I'd know that she was safe…that she was happy."

"…that she and James could find comfort in each other's arms during such a difficult time."

Miranda didn't even bother responding to that. There was a moment of silence as they paused near a small pond at the far end of the courtyard.

"It might get lonely out there," she mused, "just you, me, and the thresher maws."

Shepard fingered her chin thoughtfully, "With the war over there's going to be a lot of kids looking for homes…"

For the second time on their outing, Miranda found herself wondering if she knew just what Shepard was saying. She couldn't quite decide which felt more tangible— this, or symphonies echoing through a primeval landscape.

"…along with one very special varren."

Miranda rolled her eyes, "Is this about that mongrel that used to follow you around on Tuchanka?"

"Mongrel? Miss Lawson, take that back— Urz is a purebred pit fighter!" Shepard leaned back, looking up at her, "And besides, we need someone to keep the thresher maws in line."

"I thought that was what you were for."

"Oh no, I'm just there to take potshots at the space cows. And you, of course."

Miranda shook her head, and a smile came to her face, which Shepard immediately took as confirmation.

"Good, it's all settled then," she said, looking forward again.

"Simple as that…" Miranda murmured.

"Simple as that," Shepard affirmed, "I dare the Board to try to put you away."

"Let them try."

"Let them try!" Shepard declared, surging up and out of the chair.

"Shepard, what on earth are you doing?" Miranda laughed, watching as Shepard took a few tentative hops on her left leg, standing tall against the beaming sunlight.

"Stop that, you're being ridiculous," she continued, abandoning the chair to follow a step and a half behind.

"Nope. Don't try to stop me, Miranda. I've got to learn."

"No, you don't," she replied, crossing her arms, "Your leg has been _briefly_ immobilized; we're not cutting it off."

"Well that's a relief because-"

She heard a sharp intake of breath and suddenly Shepard doubled over, seizing her left knee. Miranda bolted forward and caught her, thoughts scrambling. The left knee now? She could've sworn she'd triple-checked it after…

The sound of soft laughter interrupted her thoughts.

"Just kidding," Shepard clarified, face lined with amusement rather than pain.

Miranda gave her capricious companion the firm shove she deserved, but Shepard appeared less than bothered, sprawling out in the grass where she fell, hands tucked under her head, looking like she hadn't a care in the world. Miranda was tempted to leave her there, walk off and let the soldier choose between the hop of shame or the hoverchair, just as she deserved. Attractive as that option was, the temptation to join her was stronger.

After confirming that there was no one else lingering in the vicinity, Miranda delicately lowered herself onto the lawn beside Shepard, claiming her shoulder for a pillow, pleased to find the hoodie softer than it had appeared at first glance. The other woman wrapped an arm around her, fingers idly twining with the ones that moved to meet them. Miranda settled the fingers of her other hand among the uneven stalks of grass, allowing her gaze to follow Shepard's up to the sky.

As a realist, she couldn't strictly condone these sorts of fantasies. The time could just as well have been spent formulating something a bit more plausible, which, given that the basic premise of their daydreaming was solid, they'd still need to do. Still, she found herself rejecting the notion that the time had been wasted. All that talk of improbable futures had made the real possibilities feel suddenly more attainable somehow, palpable as the blades of grass against her fingertips.

"You ever lay in the grass with someone before, Miss Lawson?" Shepard's question took her by surprise, interrupting her musings.

"No."

A smile spread across the soldier's face.

Romantics were just too damn easy.

* * *

They arrived back at Shepard's room, all buoyed spirits and conspiratorial smiles, Shepard's as easy as Miranda's was hard-won.

"Ah, there you both are."

Dr. Chakwas turned to acknowledge them as they entered, stepping aside to reveal James and another, less-expected figure, "Lieutenant Sanders is here from Grissom Academy. She's hoping for a word with you Shepard, and I proposed lunch in the Officer's Mess. I have a few reports to submit, and I could stand to have you out of my hair for another hour or so."

"The Officer's Mess is on the fifth floor, Doctor…are you sure it's not too soon?" Shepard asked, eyes twinkling.

"There's a reason I'm send you off with two responsible adults," Chakwas replied, reaching out to conspicuously pluck an errant blade of grass from her hair without further comment.

"What, me?" Miranda looked surprised.

"I get the feelin' she don't mean me, Sheila," James said with a grin.

"That is, assuming the two of you don't mind my interrupting…" In the light of the hospital, Kahlee's eyes shone brightly, the shadows of loss and weariness that had surfaced at the funeral nowhere in evidence.

"Not at all," Shepard replied, "I suppose you and Miranda haven't met."

"Ah, so this is _the_ Miranda Lawson," a smile spread on Kahlee's face, "You must be the one Shepard was pining over in the brig."

"Pining?" Shepard repeated, alarmed, "Was that Anderson's word?"

Kahlee chuckled, patting Shepard's arm reassuringly, "He was happy for you. A bit worried I think, until he'd had a chance to meet Miss Lawson himself, but happy."

Shepard's eyes widened, and she turned to Miranda, "You and Anderson-"

"It was just the once, and hardly under the best of circumstances," Miranda interjected, "I'm surprised to hear that I made much of an impression at all, let alone a positive one."

Kahlee shrugged, "He never said much about the meeting itself. For the most part I think he was just making sure I knew why he'd arranged a secret rendezvous with a beautiful woman half his age. I warned him that if word got out, the scandal might be enough to lose him his seat on the Council, but he only seemed to take that as encouragement. Regardless, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"A pleasure to meet you as well, Lieutenant Sanders," Miranda said, shaking Kahlee's hand, "I'm actually quite interested to hear more about the academy. My sister recently received an invitation to study there."

"You didn't tell me that _either_ ," Shepard protested, glancing up at Miranda, then back, "Oriana Lawson's a smart kid, Kahlee. You should snatch her up while you can."

"And we will," Kahlee agreed, "assuming she chooses to accept our offer. If I'm thinking of the right candidate, my guess is that we aren't the only ones inquiring."

"She has no shortage of options," Miranda confirmed, abject pride written all over her face.

"Well let's go decide her fate over lunch then, shall we? Maybe James is even reconsidering whether he'd like to join us," Shepard suggested, shooting him a loaded glance.

"Guess I could stand to have some chow," he mumbled, running a nonchalant hand through his mohawk.

Once they'd confirmed that Chakwas was firmly set on getting a few things done rather than coming along, the quartet made their way to the Officer's Mess, settling in at a table off in the corner to minimize the number of prying eyes.

"So, may I call you 'Admiral' now?" Kahlee's question interrupted Shepard's perusal of the datapad listing the day's lunch offerings.

"That's right— I heard there were some high-level military negotiations happening over a steaming basket of fish and chips the other day," James added, setting down his menu after sending his order to the attending VI.

"I suppose a little birdie told you?" Shepard said, shooting James a look.

"Nah, it was Esteban. Guy can't keep his mouth shut when he gets excited."

"Uh-huh…" she turned back to Kahlee, "Look Kahlee, we already agreed— no formalities. It's true that Hackett offered me the position, but I made it very clear that I don't intend to accept."

"That's the second promotion you've turned down in so many days," Kahlee remarked.

"Second?" Miranda raised a brow, lowering her datapad.

"That's right," Kahlee nodded, "I'm trying to bring her on board at Grissom as well. But it sounds like she gave Admiral Hackett the same sort of response she gave me."

"I'm sure it wasn't nearly that bad," Miranda replied with a frown, eyes returning to her menu, "The response she gave Admiral Hackett involved throwing her _hat_ across the room."

"After basically telling the entire Admiralty Board to mind their own business," James added quietly.

"The board never did know what to do with an ex-Cerberus officer. Those cases always hit a little too close to home, I think," Kahlee mused.

Shepard and Miranda exchanged a glance. Neither knew exactly how well-informed the lieutenant was likely to be, though her position and associations argued for 'quite'.

"I'm… surprised you're able to be so impartial about it," Miranda ventured, "After what Cerberus did at Grissom…"

"We can't all live like Jack— not even Jack can these days." Kahlee smiled wryly, "From what I understand, the Cerberus officers who orchestrated the attack on Grissom are dead or worse, all the way up to the Illusive Man himself. When I think about what happened to my school… to my _students_ … I don't think of who else I can punish. I think of how much still needs to be done to set it right."

"But it sounds like progress is good. I mean you must be just about back to normal if you're sendin' out admissions offers," James pointed out.

"Yes, I admit I was surprised at that," Miranda said, "I'm sure the Alliance has been very supportive, but generally places Shepard's been through take longer to recover."

Shepard blinked, "Places _Shepard's_ been through? Grissom had reapers, Cerberus, and _Jack,_ and you're pinning the destruction on me?"

"Of course… what was I thinking?" Miranda replied evenly, expression hidden by her menu, "I wonder if they have sushi here…"

James snorted.

"Sushi?" Kahlee shot an amused look between the three of them, "Well, seeing as this is London and not Paris, I think probably not. But to answer your earlier question, yes, we're on track for the start of the next term. Just as soon as we can get the Alliance to do something with the Atlas mechs in Orion Hall…"

"I'd recommend keeping them, if you can."

"Keeping them?" Kahlee turned to Miranda with a surprised expression.

"Keep the heavy mechs…" James leaned over to his CO, "Are you hearing this, Shepard?"

"Back off Lieutenant, I found her first."

"I'm serious. Keep them," Miranda repeated, ignoring them, "The Atlas is a YMIR base with 78 proprietary modifications— possibly a handful more since I left. None of its components are inherently dangerous, and all were developed to be as versatile as possible in the interest of generating revenue. A single intact Atlas could keep your tech-minded students busy for years, though the Alliance will no doubt want them destroyed or locked up somewhere."

"Perhaps, though if an attractive enough alternative were to be presented…" Kahlee paused a moment, expression thoughtful, "Honestly, I'd be more concerned about how much useful information could be gleaned from them. Most were in pieces by the time we got back."

Three pairs of eyes landed on Shepard.

The commander crossed her arms defiantly, "The ones in pieces are Jack's. The ones with a single clean shot through the canopy are mine."

"Didn't I hear something about you guys yankin' the pilots out and running around the great hall in those things?" James asked.

Shepard cleared her throat, "That…was probably Garrus."

"Riight… meanwhile, I get picked to run through a rachni nest with explosive egg sacs and a terrified quarian latched onto my arm the whole way," James grumbled, muttering something about turian-favoritism under his breath.

"That'll do, Lieutenant," Shepard scolded, "You can tell the story of the most action you got during the entire war _after_ we finish eating."

Lunch had arrived, and once everyone began digging in, Kahlee turned back to Miranda, "Knowing Cerberus, I fully expect that we still have a few nasty surprises in store. If you have any recommendations on that front I'd be very grateful to hear them."

"Check every piece of tech on the station, no matter how insignificant," Miranda advised, "Stations like Grissom have highly integrated, highly insular systems. A single vulnerability could undermine everything."

James reached for the hot sauce he'd requested, "Yeah but don't you need a certain level of tech sophistication to compromise a setup like that? I mean by now they must've checked the primary systems ten times over."

"A team I was leading once managed to compromise a high-security salarian data center though a Tupari vending machine. It's worth your time to do one more sweep," Miranda reiterated, "I can put together a diagnostic algorithm if you'd like."

"You don't think Cerberus changed their infiltration protocols after you left?" Shepard asked.

"Of course they did," Miranda unconcernedly speared a tomato on her fork, "just not enough times."

As they spoke, more and more tables around the room began to fill up. By the time Shepard saw the bottom of her soup bowl it was approaching the normal lunch hour, and the mess hall had become quite crowded.

"I really should be going..." Kahlee glanced down at her omni-tool hesitantly, "but I do appreciate all of your input."

"I'll walk you down to the lobby," James offered, standing along with her, "These two would probably rather head back to the room without me anyhow."

Miranda rose as well, and Shepard had to stop herself from trying to do the same. As much as she hated the hoverchair, faceplanting on the floor of the officer's mess was likely to draw more attention. Kahlee smiled and shook Miranda's hand.

"Miss Lawson, the Admiralty Board may not yet see in you what David did, but I think I'm starting to. As for you, Shepard…" she hesitated, then leaned down to pull the other woman into a firm embrace, whispering one last request into her ear.

"I will," Shepard promised, nodding, "Take care of yourself, Kahlee."

Once they arrived at the entrance to the recovery ward they parted ways, Miranda pushing Shepard in the direction of the room at a sedate pace, neither of them in any particular hurry to be back.

In spite of her earlier misgivings about the meeting, Shepard found herself smiling absently. It wasn't the lunch she'd imagined in the little pub, but it was something.

"I wish they'd offer that job to you."

The words were out of her mouth before she could really think them through.

"Oh?" Miranda chuckled, "Do you think I would make a good admiral?"

"You know what I mean," Shepard insisted, "You would be perfect for Grissom Academy, and it would be perfect for you."

 _It could be everything Cerberus was to you without the deception… without having to look the other way all the time. A way to repent, a way to restart…_

 _It's the best thing I could do for Grissom. The best thing I could do for Kahlee..._

Miranda scoffed, "It's a moot point, Shepard. The Alliance is making up their mind about how to prosecute me; they aren't going to trust me anywhere near their precious academy. And besides, I thought you had decided to accept the position yourself."

She glanced back up at Miranda, "What gave you that idea?"

"I just assumed that was what Kahlee asked you about when we were leaving the dining room."

"Oh, that? No, she uh…" Shepard scratched the back of her head sheepishly, "She was just scolding me about not getting in touch with Jack yet. It sounds like she could really stand to talk to someone her own age."

"Yes, she must find those students dreadfully mature,"Miranda remarked.

"Not me though?" Shepard shot her a sidelong grin.

" _Your_ maturity level seems to fluctuate depending on who you're talking to," Miranda replied, suppressing the urge to return it.

"That's a funny thing for you to say," Shepard mused, "Conversations with Jack really bring out the twelve-year-old in you."

"Twelve-year-old?" Miranda balked.

"Well, I mean not twelve-year-old _you_. I'm sure twelve-year-old Miranda Lawson would have found that sort of behavior appalling."

Miranda sniffed, "You have to admit, we've gotten better."

"Well, let's see, at the party it was petty insults and backhanded compliments. That's more mature than chair throwing, right?"

She heard Miranda chuckle behind her, "You know, eavesdropping is not an attractive trait, Shepard."

"I'll let Liara know."

They took a sharp turn, entering the recovery ward.

"It's just a shame,"Shepard added at length, "If Oriana ended up there…"

"Ah, but never mind," she went on, "I'm sure Jack will look after her."

The hoverchair dipped almost imperceptibly.

"This is the Alliance we're talking about, Shepard," Miranda said in a low tone, "If they won't trust a Cerberus mech they certainly won't trust a Cerberus officer."

Shepard crossed her arms, "There are no more Cerberus mechs and there are no more Cerberus officers. They'd have to be idiots not to see that."

She heard Miranda chuckle once more and shake her head, "No argument here."

They were nearly at the room, and when the hoverchair slowed to a halt, neither of them moved to correct it.

"I guess you'll be heading back now…"

Miranda moved to stand beside her, hand resting on the back of the chair, "Yes, I need to check in with Ori. I suppose I should see what she's thinking about schools these days."

They lingered for a moment in silence as a pair of nurses passed by.

"I'm glad you got a chance to meet Anderson. Just wish one of you had gotten around to telling me sooner," Shepard said, shifting in her chair.

"As I said, it wasn't an… easy meeting."

Shepard looked over at her with a knowing expression, "Let me guess— you were standoffish until his sincerity and persistence won you over."

"Is that how you think it happened?" Miranda's eyebrow peaked.

"You always did have a weakness for good old soldierly charm."

She shrugged, "Not always."

"Just admit it, Miss Lawson," Shepard persisted, "You have a type. First it was Jacob, then me…"

Miranda's brow arched impossibly higher, amused, "You think you and Jacob are a type?"

"Well… you were getting there," Shepard reasoned, lacing her fingers behind her head.

"Soldierly charm…" Miranda scoffed, "It's just a bunch of tone-deaf, chest-thumping bravado if you ask me."

"Hey, if it isn't my two favorite _chickas_!" James' voice came booming down the corridor, and the man himself strolled up after it.

"Geez, you two just gonna stand outside the door or what?" he shook his head, going in ahead of them.

Miranda and Shepard looked at each other.

"Not a word," Shepard warned.

"Does anything more to be said?" Miranda replied smugly, pushing her in after him.

* * *

"Admiral Hackett, Sir."

She raised a stiff salute, which the admiral returned.

"At ease, Shepard. Looks like that knee of yours is on the mend."

"In spite of her best efforts," Chakwas remarked, saluting the admiral herself before ducking out of the room.

"I hope you're not giving Dr. Chakwas too much trouble, Shepard. She's one of the most seasoned officers I have at this point."

"No, sir," Shepard replied, "I'm very careful about giving her just the right amount of trouble."

"Good," he replied, lips tightening into what she had come to recognize as a terse smile, "Shepard, I'll get straight to the point. Kahlee Sanders has brought to light a new possibility regarding Grissom Academy. Has she discussed this with you?"

Shepard nodded, "She has sir, and as I told her at the time, I can't in good conscience support it. There are far better people who could be running Grissom Academy."

"I see…" The lines in his forehead creased, and he resettled his hat, "I must say I'm surprised to hear you say that. I'd assumed you'd jump at a chance like this."

Shepard raised a brow, "I'm not certain I understand the relevance, sir. If I accept the admiralty there's no way I'll be able to manage Grissom as well."

"Ah… so that's the confusion," his gravelly voice was laced with amusement, "No, Shepard, as much as I'd like to have a soldier like you for every open post, Lieutenant Sanders' proposal concerned Miss Lawson."

Shepard blinked, "Miranda?"

"That's right," he said with a nod, "I understand she offered you the directorship, but you turned her down, which is only natural since as you point out, the position will require more attention than a recently-appointed admiral will be able to devote."

He paused, but she knew he wasn't offering her a chance to disagree.

"We can't offer a position like that to Miss Lawson, but what Lieutenant Sanders has proposed is that Miss Lawson be placed under her command. It would be an opportunity for her to demonstrate her good intentions and put her talents to good use, all under the proper supervision, of course."

"I…" Shepard shook her head, "It's a fantastic idea, sir. I'd support it wholeheartedly."

He gave her a pointed look, "I suppose it goes without saying that you trust her?"

"Absolutely, sir," Shepard replied, "Miranda Lawson was a member of my crew. I fought with her. I spilled blood with her. I've put my life in her hands more times than I can count. I know she's trustworthy and I know she'll do a hell of a job. All of that came before anything else between us."

"That's all I needed to hear," he replied with a curt nod, "I can't promise anything yet, but there's a lot more conversation to be had and a lot more paperwork to fill out before I can tell you that it _won't_ work."

* * *

It was spring. She was walking barefoot along the familiar chalky path, winding her way home. Around the last bend the prefab came into sight, a daub of white in the sea of golden grain. The barley was tall now, nearly reaching her waist, nearly ready for harvesting. Mom would want her home soon, to help with the mechs.

"Well shit, you really did make it."

Shepard blinked, just managing to catch the datapad that had slipped from her fingers before it could go clattering to the floor. So much for negotiating a careful balance on the edge of wakefulness and sleep… She breathed in deeply, nostrils still filled with the smell of barley.

"Kahlee said you were more or less in one piece, but I had to see it to believe it," Jack was standing just inside the door, lips curved into a smirk, "Bring down the whole damn citadel on your head, but still somehow manage to kill every last reaper and make it out alive in the end… same fucking Shepard."

Shepard smiled through her yawn, propping herself up on the bed, "Hey Jack, I was wondering when you'd come by. Glad to see you in one piece."

"Yeah, I did fine. Got through, got my kids through, broke lots of personal records for blowing shit up… pretty good war, all things considered," Jack concluded, striding into the room.

"Hello Jack," Chakwas called, coming in from the adjoining room.

"Hey doc, haven't seen you since Shepard blew the shit out of the galaxy."

"It's about time you stopped in," Chakwas said, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, "I told Lieutenant Sanders if she didn't send you along soon, Shepard was likely to go off the deep end."

Recalling Kahlee's similar comment, Shepard had to suppress a chuckle. It had been awfully kind of their 'mothers' to set up this playdate for them.

"So doc, now that we beat the reapers you finally gonna tell me where you hide your ink?" Jack asked.

Shepard shot her an incredulous look.

"Back me up, Shepard- there's no way you spend that many years as a marine without getting inked at least once," she insisted.

"I think I'd need a degree from the University of Serrice before I'd let that slip," Chakwas remarked.

Jack raised a brow, "The hell?"

"What, you don't remember that ad campaign? It was very popular in its day— the Serrice Distillers Association had it running all over the Citadel. 'The only Serrice degree open to non-asari'..." Chakwas chuckled to herself, "The university hated it so much they had a salarian enrolled by the next term."

She sighed at the blank looks she was getting, "Oh very well, I suppose I'm aging myself. I'll just be in the other room reminiscing about the days when we still used omni-gel for everything."

"Seeya doc," Jack yelled at her retreating form.

"When did you and Chakwas get so friendly?" Shepard inquired, "During our mission against the Collectors getting you up to the med bay usually involved Grunt."

Jack shrugged, "We're cool. Doc used to give me sterilized needles and other shit to work on my ink. Seemed to know a hell of a lot about the process though, is all I'm sayin'."

"Shit," she added, "You're not gonna start reminiscing too, are you Shepard? Hey, I got a bone to pick with you!"

Shepard raised a brow.

"Yeah, and once I pick it I ought to beat you over the head with it," Jack began pacing back and forth across the small room, "I mean what the fuck, Shepard? First I have to get used to the fact that you apparently have a thing for _asses_ , now I hear the princess herself is coming to _my_ school? Just what the hell makes you think that station is big enough for the two of us?"

"Wait, you mean everyone's agreed? She's really going to Grissom?" Shepard straightened further.

"Kahlee introduced her to the faculty this morning over vid comm, figure that's pretty damn set in stone. You didn't know?"

Shepard just shook her head, a smile settling onto her face.

Jack crossed her arms, letting out a dramatic sigh, "And I was just settling in as the uncontested almighty bitch of Grissom…"

"Yeah, I bet all those math teachers and political scientists really gave you a run for your money."

"I hate you Shepard, you know that right?" Jack informed her with a pointed look, "Anyway, it's not like I really give a shit. She's not gonna be teaching— sounds more like they've got her doing boring administrative shit with Kahlee. But get this, it's like her first day on the job and she wants to throw a fuckin' party."

"A party?" Shepard gave her a doubtful look, "That… honestly sounds more like you, Jack."

"Have I told you lately that I hate you? It's not actually a party, she called it a fucking _gala_. There's a princess vocab word for you…" Jack scoffed, "Anyway, she's got some crazy idea that we need to attract new money."

"She could be right. Grissom took a lot of damage during the war and Alliance resources must be spread pretty thin," Shepard reasoned.

"That's basically what Kahlee said. Don't ask me how spending a shit ton of credits to throw a party for rich people's supposed to change that. I wanted a biotiball court, but the odds of that are looking about as good as a hanar's chance in hell now that princess is on board."

Shepard scratched her chin, expression thoughtful, "I wonder if they'd finally let me out of here to go…"

Jack raised a brow, "Shit, Shepard, you really that desperate to get out? You know Armax opened a new combat sim just a few blocks over. You don't get more of a fucking invitation than that."

"You're kidding," she glanced at the other door, as if to make sure Chakwas hadn't reappeared, "I haven't held a gun in months."

Jack's expression turned devilish, "I could maybe hook you up. Not with a big-ass arm cannon like you used to carry around, but I bet I could find you something fun. Then we just say we're going to lunch or something."

Shepard raised a brow, "You do know those matches are live-streamed on the extranet, right?

"So it could be your dramatic return. It's about time you reminded the galaxy that you're still alive and still a fucking badass. Only thing is, I'm calling Cerberus enemies here and now. That shit _never_ gets old."

"Is there a setting that lets me simulate Miranda and Chakwas taking turns throttling me as soon as I get back?" Shepard asked wryly.

"Hey, I'm sure _someone_ would pay to watch that. Hell, I might even pay to watch that," Jack said, "Or join in more like…"

All of a sudden her pacing stopped, and she pulled a seat up to the bed backwards, backrest between her knees.

"Kahlee said she offered you her job. Said you turned her down."

"Yeah, it's just not for me, Jack," Shepard said with a sigh, rubbing the back of her neck, "After spending so many years on ships, the idea of staying in once place…"

"Hell, I get that. Shit grows on you like crazy though, I'll tell you that. Marks you like ink," Jack leaned forward, resting her arms on the back of the chair, "Still kind of a shame. We could've had a good time, Shepard."

"Instead you get to have a good time with Miranda."

Jack snorted, "I seriously have no fucking clue how she puts up with you, Shepard. You must be one hell of a lay, that's all I can say."

Shepard shrugged, "I _am_ Commander Shepard."

"Yeah, yeah, I bet that's what you say to her too..." Jack sighed and pushed up out of the chair, "Look I gotta run. Still got a job unlike _some_ deadbeats around here."

With a casual salute, she headed for the door.

"Guess I'll see you at the gala then," Shepard called after her.

"The hell you will," she yelled back.

The hospital room felt like a tomb in her wake.

Shepard stretched and pushed up out of the bed, idly scanning the room for anything that might serve as a punching bag. As if sensing her intention, Chakwas appeared at the far door.

"Why don't you go and get some exercise?" she remarked, "There's a small gymnasium down the hall with a nurse on duty to make sure you don't overdo it. I recommend giving the bicycle a go."

"I might just do that," Shepard replied, though it was still visions of punching bags in her head, "Hey, Jack said something about Grissom putting on some kind of gala. Any chance I might be out by then?"

"Miranda did mention something about that to me. It's still a few months off I think," Chakwas said, retrieving a change of clothes from the cupboard.

Shepard was giving her a look.

She sighed, "I suppose we'd best get your uniform pressed then, hadn't we?"


	5. I: Losing the Battle, Winning the War

_First off, thank you so much for reading and reviewing. It means a lot! Another interlude here. This one is set between ME2 and ME3._

* * *

"So, colonial development, that's..." Miranda cleared her throat, "I don't really know anything about that."

It wasn't entirely true. Upon learning of Oriana's interest in the subject, she'd rapidly digested every scrap of relevant information she could get her hands on, much to Shepard's amusement. And though Shepard had promised support in the form of her words and her presence alike, here Miranda was, navigating the niceties of social interaction with the first person she'd cared for the good opinion of in as long as she could remember, _alone_. The commander who could make small talk with a vorcha seem effortless had excused herself at the last minute to go do that _other_ thing she was so conversant at…

"It's not like I get to know about anything you do," Oriana pointed out, inviting her sister to prove her wrong.

"To be fair, I'm not doing much of anything these days," Miranda admitted, "Since our last mission wrapped up, I'm rather... in limbo."

"Does that mean you aren't planning to stay on with Commander Shepard?"

Miranda hesitated, considering the various dimensions of the question she still had no answer for. This in spite of the fact that she had been asking it of herself on a regular basis since long before the collector base fell.

Eventually, it always circled back to the same non-answer, "We hadn't really discussed it."

"Oh," Oriana's tone was surprised, "Well, if you _do_ decide you have a better offer than the first human spectre, can you at least give me a chance to meet her first?"

Miranda smiled, "Of course Ori— she's eager to meet you too. She'd be here right now if something important hadn't come up at the last minute."

"Well it _must_ be important if it was worth putting off a meeting with her XO's boring, normal little sister," Oriana joked lightheartedly, "Knowing her, we're all very lucky she's out there doing whatever it is she's doing, and knowing you, you won't say a word about it."

"I don't think she'd find you boring at all. Honestly, you have more in common with her than I ever did," Miranda said, "Shepard was born and raised in the colonies, you know."

"Of course. Everyone knows that, thanks to Mindoir's public relations team," Oriana laughed, "I am glad they can finally be known for something other than the attack. There are a lot of colonies out there that could use a Commander Shepard right now."

"To a great extent, Shepard's done her part. I'd say there are a lot of colonies that could use Oriana Lawson," Miranda remarked.

"And maybe even her 'unemployed' sister," Oriana replied with a wink, "You could always stay here, you know. Even just for a little while."

Miranda swallowed. She was still short of entirely fathoming those little remarks she'd been getting lately from her sister and Shepard both. They uttered them so casually, so _easily_ …blithely shifting the galaxy beneath her feet.

"That's kind of you Ori, but your parents have been more than welcoming and I wouldn't want to impose."

"Don't be silly— you're my sister!" Oriana insisted, "My mum is over the moon that I have a role model like you."

Miranda said nothing. Her ability to feign respectability was as intact as ever, though the sordid associations themselves were not.

They'd arrived back at the house, ducking in out of the chill, their cheeks and noses still red. Warmth and the smell of supper were the first things that greeted them, and once again Miranda was struck by a deep gratitude for this couple who'd taken in her sister and raised her as their own in the face of both dangers they knew and those they didn't.

"Hey da-" Oriana swung around the partition into the kitchen and stopped. The room was empty, the pot responsible for the savory aroma bubbling away on its own.

"Hm, where is everyone?" she wondered aloud.

Miranda felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

 _They've been taken, maybe killed. The kitchen has three escape routes. Liara's people can't be relied upon. Identities compromised. Footsteps from behind-_

She whirled, biotics already simmering just beneath her skin.

"Oh, hello mum. Don't sneak up on us like that."

Oriana's nervous laugh shattered the tension, and Miranda coughed, sliding out of what she hoped had been taken for surprise, and not a combat stance.

"Is everything okay? Dad's left his soup on the stove again and-" Oriana went silent. Her mother was blinking back tears, and Miranda felt the tension that had never quite dissipated rising in her again.

"What's wrong? What's happened?" Oriana asked, concern written across all of her features.

The older woman swallowed, voice shaky, "They've arrested Commander Shepard."

"What!?"

It took Miranda a moment to register that she had been the one to speak. Her sister shot her a worried look, then took her by the arm, leading her towards the sitting room.

Oriana's father was standing by the vidscreen, shouting, "This is a sham, goddamn it. Those batarian bastards have been out for the Commander's blood since she kicked their asses right out of Elysium!"

"… _Admiral Hackett himself, although no council officials appear to be on the scene thus far_ …"

"But it's not the batarians arresting her," Oriana said, still staring in disbelief at the unmistakable figure being led by two fully-armored marines. They had the appearance of escorts, but Miranda knew better. She could see the way Shepard leaned on them.

The camera cut to another familiar figure.

" _Admiral, can you give us a statement?_ " " _Is Commander Shepard really alive?_ " " _Was the Alliance aware that an asteroid was capable of detonating a mass relay?_ "

"No comment," Hackett growled, pushing past the mob of reporters to get to Shepard. Without hesitation, he raised a salute.

"… _the Council has denied rumors that Shepard was known to be alive and operating on a clandestine basis, vowing to launch a full investigation into allegations of terrorist ties. Some critics are calling for a broader inquiry into the Spectre program as a whole, citing this most recent incident, along with the defection of Saren Arterius. The Batarian Hegemony, meanwhile, has issued a statement implicating the Commander in the recent Aratoht tragedy-_ "

Miranda watched, numb, sick, unable to speak, unable to meet her sister's eyes. Beneath her feet, she felt the galaxy shift once more.

* * *

"Quite the blizzard, eh Shepard?"

She turned from the window, and from whatever was occupying her thoughts such that she hadn't even noticed him come in.

"It certainly is, sir," she replied, raising a salute, "Practically a Noverian summer out there."

He reflexively returned the unnecessary courtesy, nonetheless thinking how damn good it was to see her back in Alliance blue. Her gaze slipped back to the window, her attention drawn once more to the snow swirling on the other side of the pane, and undoubtedly to whatever had been on her mind as well.

It was obvious that he was interrupting— her eyes might have been on the snow, but her mind was light-years away, lost in quiet reflection.

And self-reflection was understandable, even healthy in a soldier. But he could guess at the sorts of thoughts she was having. He had felt their weight himself. They would accumulate like the snow drifts on the streets below, obstructing and obscuring, offering no clarity. He'd hardly needed Chakwas' urgent memo to tell him that— not a month after Aratoht, after her arrest…

 _No_ , he corrected himself, _not arrest_. She hadn't been arrested. She hadn't done anything wrong. He had to believe it wholeheartedly if he wanted to have any chance at making her believe it too.

"Heard you had a bit of a dust-up with Major Antella in internal affairs," he began, keeping his tone even.

She turned away from the window again, shooting an irritated look at the floor, "He wasn't listening, sir."

"Then it's a good thing I stopped by to do just that."

She laughed softly, and he was glad to hear the wheeze was almost entirely gone from the sound, "You listened to me the first time, sir. I don't think you need to hear it all again."

Sir, sir, sir. She was still calling him that, even now that she didn't have to, even now that he'd reminded her not too, even now that he was making such an effort not to call her 'Commander'. When he'd grumbled about it to Kahlee, she'd laughed knowingly and declared Shepard the only one of his children that still called him sir.

For some reason, the offhanded quip had stuck with him. Both of his boys had called him sir when they were little, with all the seriousness of their grinning, sloppy salutes and their games of war. Now Henry called him dad, or occasionally daddy when he wanted his father to take his side against his mother. Jason had taken to calling him David recently, which stung more than he cared to admit, though he supposed it was the boy's prerogative now that he was an aerospace engineer…

Yes, Shepard was the only one that still called him sir, still saluted, still played at war. Thank god for that, he thought, considering what was to come.

Remembering himself, he took his own advice and shook his head, scattering the thoughts like snow in an overturned globe. Apparently the pensive mood was contagious.

"Sounds like you need to let off some steam," he said, "Let's head over to the rec room and you can show me what you really wanted to do to Antella."

"I don't think that's a good idea, sir— I don't pull my punches so well these days with all the bone and skin weaves." Her tone was hesitant, her expression conflicted. But he could have sworn there was an eagerness in the accompanying flick of her wrist.

"Is that insubordination I hear? Or are you just calling me old?" he pressed, "Come on, wrap those knuckles. I didn't put on comfortable clothes today for nothing."

He pulled a roll of tape from his pocket and wrapped a length around each of his hands before tossing it in her direction. She caught it easily, with one hand, like always.

They exited her room, and he exchanged salutes with Lieutenant Vega.

"James," Shepard said simply.

"Commander," he replied, shooting her a stiff salute as well.

She rolled her eyes, and Anderson couldn't help but feel it was justice.

The lieutenant had been a good choice, he reflected as they passed further down the hallway. He took his post seriously, but at the same time he had the good sense to know the whole thing was bullshit. He'd never doubted Shepard, not for a minute, and that was exactly what she needed right now— a shot of unfailing faith to counteract the doubts.

 _And someone to show her how it feels to have a smartass saluting you unnecessarily,_ he added mentally.

They arrived at one of the private training rooms, and after a quick scan of his biometrics the doors slid open.

" _Welcome, Councilor_ ," the VI chimed as they moved inside. He cringed and quickly moved to the center of the room, Shepard right behind him, knuckles already wrapped.

Then everything else fell away and they began the dance, the only one she was any good at, according to her.

"Now don't go easy on me," he warned, clipping her in the shoulder, "I intend to find out which one of us has gone softer."

She dodged his next jab, "You don't think I risk a diplomatic incident if I knock out a member of the Citadel Council, sir?"

"Shepard, you couldn't sneeze without risking a diplomatic incident," he replied, sending another and another, trying to spur her into returning one, "Then again, if knocking out a councilor is anywhere near as satisfying as knocking out an ambassador, I can assure you it's worth it."

She doggedly evaded, dancing just out of his reach, "I must admit sir, there's a few of your colleagues I think I'd rather knock some sense into, starting with that smug turian and moving right down the line."

"Watch yourself," he warned, "That Tevos is feistier than she looks. And stop calling me sir, damnit."

Finally landing a blow on that damnit was _satisfying_. Probably the most job satisfaction he'd had in months, in fact. Apparently Shepard wasn't the only one who needed to let off some steam.

"I'll try to remember that, _Councilor_."

He smacked the smirk right off her, just like she deserved. She laughed, and came back at him just as hard.

"So," he said, grunting as she landed her first blow, "What's on your mind, Shepard? It can't _only_ be the reapers, not with all this time they're giving you to think."

"No sir, it's the board too-" She winced, and he reminded himself to steer clear of her left side, which was evidently still tender no matter what she told the attending physician. Clearly _that_ directive from Chakwas had been warranted, the one about her side _and_ the one about lying to doctors.

"Have they decided what to do with me yet, sir?"

He bobbed away from a glancing blow, "Not yet. Most of them are still just trying to wrap their heads around the fact that you're alive. When Hackett announced that you were going to be testifying in person, Tadius Ahern laughed so loud I think they must've heard it back at Pinnacle Station."

"Ha— Ahern always did underestimate me. Got the deed to his retirement apartment to prove it."

"An apartment? Planetside?" Anderson raised an eyebrow, "Can't imagine you knew what to do with it any better than he did."

"You mean apartments are for something other than showing off your biggest guns and stockpiling grenades?" Shepard was grinning, but after a moment her expression softened, "Actually, it was nice, sir, even if I didn't get as much use out of it as I would have liked. Nice just to know it was there, you know? That there was a place I could always go back to, anytime I wanted. Guess I haven't really had that since Mindoir."

Filing that away in the back of his mind, Anderson pivoted to come at her from a different angle, "And just when were you planning on having me over for drinks?" She'd lapsed back into sir almost immediately, and he didn't have the heart to correct her. Besides, he was willing to lose that battle so long as her tone kept telling him he was winning the war.

"Drinks are on me as soon as I get out of here, along with all the grenades you can carry, sir," she promised, "You know, now that you mention it, I might've left the lights on last time I was there. Think Lieutenant Vega would let me run out to Intai'sei if I ask nicely?"

"I think Lieutenant Vega would drive you there personally if you said it was important. That's my hope anyway."

She raised a brow, "Did you assign me a guard or a yeoman?"

"Lieutenant Vega knows what's what," he said simply, "He's the best kind of soldier— smart enough to know when to follow orders and when to improvise. Just don't order him through the Omega-4 relay. I can't afford to lose any more good marines."

He gave her a pointed look, and her eyes narrowed.

"You haven't lost this one, sir," she vowed, letting a solid punch fall directly onto his guard. They exchanged a few unsuccessful volleys before she spoke again.

"Speaking of the Omega-4 Relay, I don't suppose you'd be able to say if any of my old squad was trying to contact me?"

He sighed, and caught himself pulling his next punch, "You know I couldn't, even if I did know."

Painful as it was, he and Hackett were in agreement about the comm-ban. They weren't letting any messages through— not the well-wishes, not the death threats, not the well-wishes from some poorly-spelling krogan that read like death threats…

He wondered briefly if she'd push the issue, wondered if he'd budge if she did. Instead she just nodded, throwing out a half-hearted punch that nonetheless landed like a brick, and he found that _that_ worried him most of all.

She was still raw from Aratoht. How could she not be—the whole damn galaxy was. It was hardly a month now since he'd watched in horror as the newsvids reported that an asteroid had slammed into the Alpha Relay, wiping out an entire system in one terrible instant. His fellow councilors called it the greatest atrocity in galactic history, all while still stubbornly continuing to deny the actual greatest atrocity in galactic history.

And just as suddenly she reappeared, and every camera in the galaxy was trained on her, on her arrest, no, apprehension, no, _surrender_. They speculated as to why she was alive, why she was escorted but not handcuffed, why she wasn't wearing Alliance colors.

Misinformation was flying. Hackett summarily denied all but one severely restricted hearing on the matter, and as soon as the date was set, Anderson got the hell over to Vancouver as fast as he could, leaving Udina to make his excuses.

He didn't sleep a wink the night before the hearing, a fact he would come to regret because the day that dawned was as grueling as any he could remember facing. For six hours Shepard spoke plainly about killing 304,942 batarians, an entire company of indoctrinated alliance soldiers, and the one agent she'd been sent to recover.

Looked bad too. She'd managed to hide it well in the footage, but on the stand it was clear what a beating she'd taken. A hasty memo from Chakwas had landed on his desk earlier in the morning explaining where she'd left off in Shepard's treatment. All the same, he knew it wasn't just the injuries that caused her to shake, not just the weariness that made her lean so heavily on the podium.

She took full responsibility. But it was all just a taste of what was to come, she insisted, a mere prelude to what the reapers would bring. She was bowed but unbent, remorseful yet defiant, and nobody had the faintest idea what the hell to do with that— what the hell to do with _her_.

He could've decked the rear admiral who suggested that perhaps it would have been for the best if she'd gone down with the system.

But in some dark, private corner of his mind, he wondered if she'd been tempted. Forget the comm and stand at the edge of the asteroid, be the first to be obliterated by that tidal wave of light and energy before the weight of her deeds could settle on her shoulders.

 _No sir_ , she'd told the rear admiral unflinchingly, _not while there's still a war to win._

And then Hackett had found his voice and laid into the man.

 _Bet that jackass is wishing an asteroid would obliterate him right about now_ , Ahern had growled beside him.

 _That'd make two of us,_ Anderson recalled muttering darkly.

Suddenly there was a loud smack. Pain was spreading across his shoulders and Shepard was standing over him with an outstretched hand. He felt the floor beneath him.

"Alright, you got me," he waved her off, scooting over to sit against the wall, "You learn that dirty trick working for Cerberus?"

"No sir," she replied, sliding down next to him, "I learned that one from you."

"And you haven't fallen for it since," he grumbled, absently rubbing his back, "I'm definitely going to feel that one tomorrow, and for a few weeks after. At least it might keep me from nodding off during the Dilinaga Concert Hall dedication ceremony."

"That mean you're headed back to the Citadel tomorrow, sir?"

"I'm afraid so— tonight if I can swing it."

"Almost sounds like you came all this way just to get your ass frozen off and then handed to you, sir."

He barked out a laugh and shook his head. God, he missed the military. How long had it been since the two of them had sat like this, fresh from their latest sparring session, catching their breath and shooting the breeze? And he'd been telling himself _she_ needed this…

"Sir," she said after a moment, "There is one other thing that's been on my mind… one of my old squadmates actually."

"Hmm?" he replied absently.

"She and I… well, we never got a chance to work things out before everything happened."

She broke off and he shot her a curious glance, noting the evasive cast of her eyes, the way her fingers pulled absently at the fraying edge of the tape on her hand.

"I get the feeling we aren't talking about just any member of your crew, Shepard," he observed.

"No sir," she answered quickly, "I mean… she was my XO, sir, for one."

He raised a brow, "Your XO?"

"Yeah…"

"I see." He turned his gaze straight ahead again. She wasn't looking at him, so it didn't matter much whether he looked at her or not. Well, not to anything but her mental state, it seemed.

"You know Shepard, you and your XO aren't always going to agree on every course of action," he began, choosing his words carefully, trying not to sound too bemused, "The important thing is that she understands your reasons for making the decisions you do. A good XO will respect your decisions, even if she doesn't always agree with them."

"Yeah, well that's part of the problem actually," Shepard paused in her dissection of the tape to rub the back of her neck, "She and I didn't really have a chance to hash this out. After the collector mission we were supposed to go visit her sister…"

She made the mistake of pausing, and he couldn't resist, "Meeting your XO's family… that's a big step, Shepard."

She shot him a look, and his smile widened as he gestured for her to continue.

"Like I was saying, Hackett's mission came up, and that definitely couldn't wait, but she couldn't put off the trip either. She needed to make sure her sister was safe from any Cerberus reprisals, and they'd already made plans to celebrate her 'birthday'."

Anderson wondered idly why Shepard felt the need to say birthday with such an odd emphasis, but she was already going on.

"The point is that by the time we were en route to the Bahak system, she was already planetside, which means she must have found out about everything the same way everyone else did…"

The news vids flashed in his head, images of a decimated system shifting into footage of Alliance guards escorting a ghost, and a distinct memory of the tightness in the pit of his stomach shifting into full-on churning.

"That's not good, Shepard," he winced, "You didn't manage any contact with her before turning yourself in?"

Her shoulders sagged, arms draped limply over her knees, "I was pretty out of it right up until Hackett showed up sir, and I turned myself over to the Alliance then and there."

"Hm," he rubbed his forehead wearily, "Is there anything we can do about it?"

He saw the moment her expression shifted. And by god, he was prepared to do just about anything if it meant seeing conviction like that in her eyes again.

"I want her to know the truth about what happened," she said, "I wrote a full report for Hackett, but he wouldn't take it. Now there's only one local copy on a datapad in my room. I know it's a risk, but if you could get it to her…"

She trailed off.

"It could be difficult," he said with a sigh, "If she's ex-Cerberus she'll be making herself scarce, and I doubt she would trust someone like me in the first place."

"Yes sir, I know."

There was a moment of silence, and Anderson pushed off the wall, pulling her up after him. They exited the rec room and walked the rest of the way back to her quarters in silence, his thoughts swirling with Cynthia, with Kahlee, with _Shepard_.

By the time they'd reached her quarters he'd made up his mind. He gripped her shoulder firmly, "I'll see what I can do. Give me your report; I'll be in touch again soon."

Shepard nodded, hastily retrieving it, "You're welcome to read it too sir, if you want."

He shook his head. What he already knew about Aratoht was enough for a lifetime. Resisting the urge to salute, he tucked the datapad under his arm and turned to go.

"Sir, if you manage to see her, just… she doesn't have the most flattering impression of the Alliance," Shepard added hastily, crossing the short distance to the door alongside him.

"Understood," he said with a nod.

"And she's probably even more on-edge than usual after everything that's happened..."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, giving her a look that he hoped was reassuring before heading out into the brightly-lit hallway.

"She's also a biotic…"

Pausing in the corridor, Anderson felt a small smile pull at his features. The only one of his children that still called him sir… he turned back to see her hovering just at the edge of the threshold.

"Why Shepard," he replied, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were nervous about me meeting your XO…"

She folded her arms across her chest, defiant, then reached into her back pocket.

"Maybe you should take this with you," she said, lobbing him the roll of tape.

He caught it easily, with one hand, like always.

* * *

David Anderson had never been particularly superstitious. Certainly no more than the next soldier with an increasingly improbable number of decades under his belt. Still, as he approached the rendezvous point (café, he reminded himself, not rendezvous point, _café_ ) he found his fingers wrapping around the roll of tape in his pocket.

At least one of his fears was quickly allayed. He recognized her instantly.

"You certainly don't make yourself easy to track down, Miss Lawson."

She was striking, in spite of a clear determination to blend into the crowded plaza. It wasn't just her looks but the way she held herself, that hardness in her gaze… She positively defied obscurity, which he suspected had been to her advantage up until the point when she found she needed to disappear.

"That's gratifying to hear, Councilor. I'm certainly interested in learning why you went to all the trouble."

He took a seat at her table, and though she made no visible reaction, he could feel the tension in the air. Her expression was unreadable. Guns weren't allowed on the presidium, but then again neither were ex-Cerberus agents. Some instinctual part of him observed that there was nowhere for her to hide a gun, even as another dryly noted how very little that mattered.

"I have a message to pass along, but we can't talk here," he said, forcibly letting go of the talisman in his pocket so that he could keep both hands atop the table, where she could see them.

"Then there's nothing more to say."

He sucked in a breath, and went on, "Listen Miss Lawson, I understand that you don't trust me-"

"Not any more than you should trust me," she interjected, allowing a hint of impatience to escape her façade.

"I trust Shepard, Miss Lawson. I think that's pretty much where we're both at."

There was a pause.

"Please, call me Miranda," she said at last.

He blinked. The way she said it, it was almost as if the way he said 'Miss Lawson' was too familiar…

"Alright."

Her concession took him by surprise. Shepard's name had been enough after all. Not enough to stop her from looking like she might change her mind at any moment, but enough that when he stood, she stood with him, and when he walked over to the waiting shuttle, she followed. He had to catch himself from opening the door for her. The more gentlemanly thing to do at this point was to go in first.

"There's a concert at Dilinaga Hall tonight and I've got a private box. We can talk there," he explained as they sat beside one another in the back seat, "Might give you a chance to catch your breath too."

She shook her head, "A councilor's security entourage might give your average thugs pause, but not the people hunting me."

"I tend to think of safety as relative these days," he replied, with a wry smile, "It's just a few hours, just one day, and for all the other days and all the other hours you'll be more vulnerable a dozen times over. I'm not saying it's foolproof, just that if these assassins have any kind of sense they'll grab a cup of coffee and cool their heels."

The shuttle sped along the diplomatic routes, and soon a sign flashed by the virtual windows indicating that they had entered Tayseri Ward.

It was hardly a necessary reminder. Tayseri was the last ward with piles of rubble still waiting by the side of the road to be taken away, the last ward where scavengers and souvenir hunters continued to scour for leftover fragments of Sovereign. The large building that they were headed towards was one of the most recent restorations to the skyline.

"I appreciate your show of faith," he said, "The information I've been asked to convey could do a lot of damage in the wrong hands, and there are too many prying eyes on the presidium, not just Cerberus or the Alliance, but the Shadow Broker as well."

"I understand your caution, though I think you'll find the Shadow Broker's agenda to be well in line with Shepard's these days," she replied, "Who do you think managed to relay your massage to me in the end?"

"The Shadow Broker?" his brow knitted, and he shook his head, "I hope Shepard knows what she's doing. She's getting herself mixed up with some very dangerous people."

"With all due respect, Councilor, neither Cerberus nor the Broker ordered her to kill three hundred thousand batarians."

The flash of emotion that flitted across her gaze was minute. He might have missed it entirely, if not for the fact that he'd felt it himself more than once of late, and that it was accompanied by a momentary but noticeable surge of her biotics. Without thinking, he checked to make sure the roll of tape was still in his pocket. The next moment, her impassive expression was restored.

He said nothing, but motioned her out of the now-parked shuttle. The private lot led directly to the private elevator, which responded immediately to his biometrics.

" _Welcome, Councilor_ ," Avina's familiar voice greeted him warmly, and he grudgingly stepped inside.

Only once they had arrived in the privacy of the booth did he speak.

"Alright, we should be able to talk now," he said, ensuring that she saw the code he set on the door, "Now, what were we discussing?"

She stood across the room from him, crossing her arms, "We were discussing Shepard's arrest."

"Not arrest," he interjected, almost habitually, "She hasn't been arrested."

"Fine, _detainment_ if you prefer," Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose, "And the Alliance accuses Cerberus of mincing its words…"

Sighing, he took one of plush seats, motioning her towards another. She remained rooted where she stood. He hadn't turned off the auditory emulators, so the faint sound of the concert-goers shuffling below mingled audibly with the distant tumult of the musicians warming up. Something to fill up the silence, he supposed.

"You have to understand, the intention was never to destroy the relay," he said at last, "Shepard's actions bought the whole galaxy a few extra months to prepare."

 _Shepard's actions, and three-hundred thousand souls,_ a grim voice in his head added.

"So Shepard did what she had to, and the reaper invasion is closer than we feared," Miranda's arms re-crossed, "I can't say I find either of those facts terribly surprising. What I don't understand is how it all added up to her being left to twiddle her thumbs in a holding cell in Vancouver."

His brow shot up, "You're well-informed…"

"Extremely," she affirmed, "and I'm not the only one. I assume you've been monitoring batarian channels?"

"Of course we have," he said with a grimace, "But Vancouver is in the heart of human territory, and any batarians that show up are going to stick out like sore thumbs. That's part of the reason she's there— to keep her out of the storm that's brewing. Vancouver is a secure facility."

"So was Aratoht."

He smiled wryly, "Well, let's hope we don't get tested by the likes of Shepard."

"Do the doors lock from both sides then?" she shot him a penetrating look, "Is that why you tracked down a man known for picking fights over her good name on Omega to guard the brig?"

"You've looked into the security," he noted.

She shrugged, "Curiosity, mostly…"

They evaluated one another for a moment.

"She's injured," Miranda remarked at last, turning to look out over the concert hall.

"Dr. Chakwas said more than she should have…"

"Not entirely," she replied, "Most of it I was able to piece together from watching the footage."

He shook his head, "Hopefully it wasn't too obvious. The Hegemony's still scrambling to explain how she could have escaped Bahak without so much as a scratch."

"I don't think you have anything to worry about," Miranda said in a low tone, "She's gotten quite good at hiding these things."

He laughed, and she turned to him with a curious expression.

"You sound like Dr. Chakwas," he explained, "Miranda, if I was able to learn to trust her in Cerberus hands, surely you can learn to trust her in Alliance hands."

"The Alliance hasn't done much to inspire confidence thus far."

"There was a time when I would've said the same thing about your former employers. Cerberus bringing Shepard back after Alchera made things a lot more complicated. Incidentally, I understand that I have you to thank for that."

"Dr. Chakwas said more than she should have…" she replied simply. If she was surprised, it didn't register in her face.

"The bottom line is that when Shepard showed up at the embassy in a Cerberus uniform and asked me to trust her, to understand that she was wearing those colors for the right reasons, I did," Anderson pressed.

"Maybe if she had asked, things would have been different."

Anderson swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, and thought of Shepard locked up in a small room in Vancouver. As a young soldier he would have dismissed her sentiment, argued that things were the way they were no matter what anyone said about them. Now he was an admiral, an ex-husband, a father. Now he knew better.

"This is her way of asking," he explained, holding out the datapad he'd been entrusted with.

She hesitated a moment before taking it, then finally took a seat in the remaining chair. After scanning the first few lines, she glanced up.

"You're taking a huge risk by bringing this to me."

He met her gaze, "I asked Shepard to trust me and go quietly to the brig on the cusp of the greatest war in galactic history, and the only thing she ever asked me for was this. That's the only copy, and it won't leave this room."

Below them, they heard the ambient noise die down. The hanar conductor was gliding to the podium.

"What are they playing?" she asked.

He stroked his chin, "Their opening series is a celebration of music from each of the council homeworlds, and I was asked to nominate a few pieces from Earth. Can't say I know a thing about classical Earth music. It was Shepard who suggested it."

The first few notes rang out.

"It's Nielsen's Fifth," she murmured, and there was a softness to her tone he hadn't heard before.

"You know it?"

She nodded, "It's a fine choice. A symphony about order and chaos. An homage to a long-past war."

He smiled grimly, "Sounds like just the thing the Council needs to hear. Let's hope they pick up on the subtext for once."

"No subtext, Councilor. Just one very determined snare drum."

For the next two hours they sat in silence as she poured over the datapad, the sounds of an epic conflict long since forgotten washing over them. The various instruments all sang in their turn, and above them all, a snare drum raced on, defiant.


	6. Waltzing Matilda

"James, Steve, glad you could make it."

"You know us Shepard, we never miss a party," Cortez said, with a quick salute and a quicker smile, "And we didn't even have to dock in an auxiliary cargo port like the last time we visited Grissom."

James matched the salute, then glanced around the room, "Don't I remember Scars braggin' about you guys getting into a firefight in a big hall like this?"

"Good memory, Lieutenant. Yes, this is Orion Hall," Shepard replied, making a sweeping gesture towards the Alliance-decked room, "And I can tell you it looks a heck of a lot better in blue than it did in orange and white."

"Funny, I was just gonna say that about you, Lola," James said with a wink.

She adopted a thoughtful smile, "I don't know about that Lieutenant, I managed to attract some very welcome attention back when I was wearing a Cerberus uniform..."

He chuckled, following her gaze across the room to a strikingly beautiful figure mingling with the crowd on the far side, absolutely fitting in, absolutely standing out, "I figured you'd be out there with the missus tonight. What gives?"

Shepard shrugged, "She wants to keep things discreet, which is understandable. Hard to make a name for yourself if mine is drowning you out."

"Besides, tonight I _am_ the missus," she added, watching as a well-muscled man in a very expensive-looking civilian tux shook Miranda's hand, "She's the one working."

"Working? Or working _it_?" James asked as the man put a hand on Miranda's arm, " _Un momento_ — Is that Derek Rogers? Esteban, are you seeing this?"

Cortez was long since speechless. Shepard shot them both a curious look.

"Derek Rogers? The point rusher for the Seattle Sorcerers?" Cortez prompted, "You don't remember? He scored like 700 points against the Usaru Maestros in the game we watched back at your place."

"Hear that, Shepard? The man likes to score…" James said, raising his eyebrows and giving her a pointed look.

"Ha— against asari _maybe_. But this is Miranda Lawson we're talking about. He's out of his league," she concluded dismissively.

"Ouch, Lola," James gave her arm a punch, "I'm gonna tell Liara you said that."

"I can't believe Derek Rogers is hitting on your girlfriend. I'm jealous _and_ I think my heart is breaking," Cortez groaned.

"Aw don't be such a quitter, Esteban," James scolded, giving his friend a slap on the back, "You know Derek Rogers swings both ways and Sheila only swings _that_ way," he inclined his head to indicate Shepard, "So go introduce yourself, _pendejo_."

"Are you kidding? What's a guy like me supposed to say to a guy like Derek Rogers?"

"Say 'Hi, my name's Esteban and I'm your biggest fan. Sometimes when everyone thinks I'm doing shuttle maintenance, I'm actually updating your stats on my fantasy biotiball team..."

"Really?" Shepard asked, surprised but amused, seeing the answer in the pilot's sheepish face.

"...and sometimes, when I'm re-watching your highlights reel, I just cut the auditory emulators and watch you float over the goal line in silence.'"

"James!" Cortez hissed, giving the larger man a dirtier look than Shepard would have guessed him capable of.

"Look, if it's a problem I'll introduce you," Shepard interrupted, taking Cortez's arm and leading him out towards the object of his admiration. Cortez shot one more helpless look at James, catching a glimpse of a grin and a double thumbs up before stumbling after Shepard.

"-human team has never won a biotiball championship at the university level. Grissom has some of the most talented human biotics in the galaxy of course, but they just don't have the proper facilities…" Miranda was saying as they approached.

"Excuse me," Shepard interrupted, gently tapping her shoulder. The woman turned to her with a raised eyebrow.

"Admiral, what can I do for you?" she asked, giving Shepard flashbacks to their time aboard the SR-2, though the greeting definitely never used to be accompanied by a glance that raked over her appreciatively from head to toe.

"Sorry to interrupt, but my pilot here is an enormous Seattle Sorcerers fan. He tells me you once scored 700 points in a single game?" Shepard said, turning to the broad-shouldered athlete.

"Admiral Shepard," the man seemed younger at this distance, and there were stars in his eyes, "It's an honor ma'am, really. You're the only reason any of us are still alive, let alone playing biotiball."

"Well, Steve Cortez is one of the only reasons _I'm_ still alive, and if you and Miss Lawson are talking biotiball, I'm certain he'd have a thing or two to add to the conversation."

Miranda was eyeing her carefully, subtle amusement playing across her expression.

"Honored to meet you too, sir," Derek said, shaking Cortez's hand excitedly.

Shepard flashed them all a friendly smile, "Well, I'm embarrassed to admit that I wouldn't know a biotiball from a baby krogan, so I'd better be on my way before I make a fool of myself. Cortez, Mr. Rogers, _Miss Lawson_."

She tipped her hat, and without waiting for a reply turned on her heels and strode back towards James, certain at least one pair of eyes was following her all the way.

"Nicely done, Lola," James said, taking two drinks off a passing tray and handing her one, before clinking their glasses, "Guess even a flyboy needs a wingman every once in a while. Though if this works out too well, I'm gonna need a new ride home…"

"I'll pay for a shuttle from Elysium. I've seen the way you handle a skycar," Shepard replied.

" _Or_ , if you and Sheila are tryin' to keep things on the down low, maybe you should leave this party with _me_ tonight," he suggested with a wink, sipping something deeply crimson from his glass.

Shepard shot him an amused look, "I don't want anyone to think I'm taking advantage. Besides, isn't there someone else here you'd rather leave with?" Her gaze moved in the direction of the doors, out of which Oriana Lawson had just emerged, balancing trays of _hors d'oeuvres_ in each hand.

The large marine chuckled, running a hand through his hair almost sheepishly.

"That littler Lawson's quite a piece of work…just like her sister, but _completely_ different. You ever think about that? Like maybe Oriana's the way Miranda would have turned out if not for her crazy dad?"

Shepard shrugged, "Miranda is who she is. Because of her father, in spite of him… I wouldn't put somebody else through it, but I wouldn't have _her_ any other way."

James turned to her with a knowing smile.

"Wipe that grin off your face, Lieutenant." Her gaze wandered back to Oriana, "You know, those trays look awfully heavy, and the younger Miss Lawson has one in each hand…"

"I think I'd better help her with that."

"I think you'd better."

He downed the rest of his drink and gave her a quick salute.

"Dismissed, Lieutenant," she said, watching him take off across the room with gusto.

Take that, Danner. Miranda was going to kill her…

Shepard took a long sip from her drink and let her gaze drift idly across the room. For the evening, Orion Hall was a showcase of practically every member of Earth's upper crust, officers' dress blues interspersed with the finest civilian garb credits could buy.

Miranda had hand-picked them, one and all, using a combination of intuition and extensive research, along with a catalog of high-society know-how Shepard had every suspicion was left over from another life. Not long ago Henry Lawson himself would have been a prime mover at a function like this. She knew there had to be others like him. Miranda knew it too, and she was determined to command their enthusiasm while patriotism and goodwill towards the Alliance was still fresh, and before it could be turned in more dubious directions.

There were figures in red moving through the crowds as well. Miranda had insisted that as many students as possible be in attendance, each wearing a tag with their name and specialization, vivid, concrete reminders of what the attendees' donations would serve. More than a few were eagerly hoping to meet a future employer tonight, and the employers were no less eager to meet them.

"Hey Shepard!"

A voice interrupted her reverie, and Shepard turned to see a familiar tattooed biotic making her way over from across the room, the leather and studs of her usual outfit clashing joyfully with the formal setting.

"Jack," Shepard acknowledged her with a nod, "I thought you weren't coming."

"Damn kids talked me into it. Said I need to _support_ them," she growled, "manipulative little fuckers..."

She crossed her arms and planted herself next to Shepard, shooting dirty looks in every direction.

"Still can't believe the princess comes on board and this is the first thing she does. Waste of time and money if you ask me."

"Just give her a chance, Jack. If there's one thing she knows, it's _these_ people," Shepard said, gesturing to the crowd with her drink.

"Yeah well, all I can say is they better get the hell off this station come closing time and leave a shit ton of credits when they do," Jack muttered, "Look, I gotta take Eezo out to piss. Wanna blow this high school prom and walk with me?"

Shepard gave her an apologetic smile, "You know, you make it sound tempting, but there's just so much wine that needs drinking…"

Jack scoffed, "Sweet asari shit like that'll just rot your teeth. Come on, I got some stuff back at my place that'll rot your brain instead."

"Nah, you go ahead," Shepard waved her off, "I need to stick around, at least until they get the Shepard VI up and running."

Jack raised a brow, "Ooh, I see how it is. Princess order you to stay, little soldier? Man, Shepard, you are so _whipped_."

"What's that Jack?" Shepard asked, tone serene, "I can't hear you over the chirping of the little fledgling biotics tucked under your wing… you know, the ones who so desperately needed your support tonight."

"Ugh, fuck you Shepard," Jack replied, swiping the glass from her hand and taking a long, begrudging sip.

"What's next, one of those asari dresses? Maybe lined up so there's a different tattoo in each hole?" Shepard snickered, "At least _I'm_ getting laid…"

"The hell you are! You've been in a hospital for the last nine months, when's the last time you got laid?"

Before Shepard could retort, they were interrupted by a voice from across the room.

"Shepard!" A figure in Alliance blues pushed his way through the crowd.

Shepard smiled broadly, "Major Alenko, damn good to see you in one piece."

The man returned the smile, affecting a swift salute, "Yes, ma'am. Took a nasty shot from a banshee during the last push that put me out of commission for a good two months, but I'm back at it."

He caught her in a firm handshake, taking her hand with both of his, "God, you have no idea how good it is to see you, Shepard."

He was wrong— it was beaming out of every inch of his expression. Shepard found herself smiling wider in turn, reveling in the unlooked-for joy of two soldiers finding each other alive again. Then all at once, she became aware of just how many eyes were upon them, no doubt drawn by Kaidan's hasty approach and only further intrigued by the demonstrative hand clasp.

"Hmm, maybe I will take you up on that walk, Jack."

"If you're going out, I'll come along," Kaidan cut in, "I could use some air."

Well that wasn't going to quell any rumors.

"Let's just go already. I swear, if Eezo pissed on the floor I'm making you two dumbasses clean it up," Jack grumbled, already turning to leave.

Then again, the inclusion of Jack in their party would at least throw a wrench into some of the imaginings, for better or for worse…

They followed her out the doors, navigating past a few more revelers who had made it out to the quad.

"I remember you from Shepard's party," Kaidan began, "Its Jack, right? Jack…"

"Yep."

"Oh… well I'm not sure if you remember me at all, but I'm Kaidan."

"L2, right?" she replied, glancing back to give him a once-over.

"Right," he smiled, "so you do remember me then."

She shrugged and kept walking, heading for the entrance to a building on the periphery of the station with a sign that read 'Faculty Housing'.

"I'm surprised to see you here, Kaidan. Fancy parties aren't really your style, and from what James told me they've been running you ragged in my place," Shepard remarked.

"Yeah, it's true, though I'm a poor substitute for the real thing," Kaidan replied, with a self-effacing wince, "Anyway, I'm not here tonight for the party, I'm here for the cause. These students are our best and brightest, and Grissom offers them opportunities their parents—even their older siblings— couldn't have dreamed of. If the Ascension Project had existed back when I was a kid… well heck, I don't know where I'd be."

"Not that I'm unhappy where I am now," he added in a low tone, "Just… could've avoided a lot of unpleasantness along the way."

Shepard wondered if Jack would remark on his sentiment, but she said nothing, merely continuing into the building and down the main hallway.

"This is the royal bedchamber," she mentioned as they passed one particular set of doors, turning back to Shepard with a suggestively raised brow, "You know, in case you're interested…"

Shepard paused a moment and was almost surprised when the door slipped open. Either Miranda had neglected to lock it or it was already keyed to her biometics, and it seemed very unlikely that Miranda had neglected to lock it…

She stepped inside, quickly taking in the entirety of the small apartment. From what she could see, it consisted of an open room with an adjoining kitchen, along with a separate bedroom and bathroom, and maybe one additional space down the hall. Overall it was maybe twice the size of her quarters on the Normandy, but no more.

Aside from furniture and a few necessities, everything still seemed to be tucked away in transport crates on the floor. Apparently in the last-minute rush Miranda hadn't yet had a spare moment to unpack, which she knew was probably driving the fastidiously tidy woman crazy. The bed, at least, was impeccably made, and Shepard spied a few outfits hanging in the closet along with the fallout from Miranda's pre-gala preparation on the bathroom counter.

"Huh. What's the royal bedchamber, I wonder? I know I'm interested," Kaidan said with a small chuckle, poking his head into the door just as she was leaving.

"Hear that, Shepard?" Jack called back, activating her omni-tool in front of a door down the hall, "Sounds like the two of you have yourselves a third dancing partner."

Kaidan snorted, "I think I've known Shepard long enough to know better than to dance with her."

"Your loss, boy scout," Jack smirked, "I'm guessin' she has a few moves you haven't seen though if she can actually get princess loosened up long enough to lay down."

Kaidan blinked, turning to Shepard with a confused expression, "I feel like I don't understand a lot of the things she says…"

"I'm right with you, Alenko," Shepard sighed, digging her hands into her pockets and heading off after Jack.

The minute the door to Jack's apartment swished open, a glowing blue ball of scales and jubilation shot out to greet her.

"Hey there Eezo! How's my big, fat biotiball? How is he? Aww, I missed you too you little shit," Jack cooed, heaving the varren into the air like it was nothing. He was definitely rounder than Shepard remembered. A few too many ingested pots and pans, no doubt...

Shepard glanced into Jack's apartment, which appeared to be laid out similarly to Miranda's. She caught a glimpse of a punching bag and a desk cluttered with datapads before the door slipped shut.

"Come on big guy, let's go empty your tank on the dumbest looking flower we can find, or maybe some drunk-ass rich person," Jack said, starting down the hall in the other direction, Eezo trotting happily beside her and Kaidan and Shepard following behind. They came out another set of doors to a more secluded part of the quad.

"So, which god do I have to thank for the fact that you didn't bring Eezo with you to the gala?" Shepard asked as they waited for him to finish sniffing an artificial planter.

"Night's still young…" Jack replied with a grin, resuming her amble among the trees.

"That… seems like a very bad idea," Kaidan interjected, "A lot of soldiers have had bad experiences with varren, and there's always the possibility that someone could be allergic."

Jack raised a brow, "Wow, you're more of a boy scout than Shepard here."

"Where I'm from, we call it Scouts Canada, thank you very much," he replied evenly, "And yes, I'll admit I was a Venturer Scout back in the day. Back before I got promoted to Private anyway..."

"I'll bet you were," Jack shook her head, possibly surprised by her inability to offend him.

Kaidan nodded, "Unfortunately never made it to Rover Scout. Got shipped off to Brain Camp instead."

"Brain Camp?" Jack snorted, "That's cute…"

Kaidan's brow furrowed, "Oh no, it was terrible. We were just teenagers and we were pushed way past our limits, a few kids even di- ow, what?"

He turned to Shepard, gingerly rubbing the rib she'd just jabbed with her elbow. Jack stared at him for a second, then at Shepard, then back to him.

"…aw, fuck it," she concluded, resuming her walk, Eezo bounding behind her. In her wake, Shepard let out the breath she'd been holding. Fortunately, Kaidan had the sense not to push the issue, and the two of them followed after her in silence.

"So, this new assistant director," he said at last, "I remember her from the party too— Miranda Lawson, right? So you two must know her?"

"Ha," Jack gave him an incredulous look, "Yeah, I know her. And if you'd been paying attention to who slunk off with who at the end of that party you sure as hell wouldn't be asking if Shepard knew her."

For something like the tenth time that night, Kaidan looked at Jack like his translator was glitching.

"Shit, do I need to draw you a picture? Shepard and Lawson with little fucking hearts all over the place?"

His eyes widened a little, then shot over to Shepard, "Wait, you're together? You and Miranda Lawson? But I thought… wasn't she the Cerberus XO on your mission against the collectors?"

Shepard suppressed the urge to sigh, and braced herself to have _this_ conversation again, "She was, and after that she joined the fight against Cerberus and the reapers, just like the rest of us. You must remember that we picked her and her sister up on Sanctuary, and she's the only reason we managed to track down Cronos Station at all."

"And you honestly trust her enough to-"

"She stopped working for the Illusive Man a long time ago, Kaidan."

"Yeah, but Shepard…"

"Those L2s mess with your ears or something?" Jack cut in, "She's still a prissy cheerleader bitch, but she's sure as hell not with Cerberus anymore. Fuck, try listening next time, dumbass."

She threw up her hands in exasperation and walked off, plopping down on a nearby bench as Eezo sniffed away happily nearby.

 _God I wish I'd had this woman with me at the Admiralty Board hearing_ , Shepard thought.

"Sorry about her," she offered softly, turning to Kaidan, "And look, I'm sorry too that you had to find out this way. Miranda and I are together and have been since the mission against the collectors. She's a good person, Kaidan. She's left Cerberus behind."

Kaidan was eyeing her closely. The two of them had been here before.

"Okay," he said at last.

"That's it?" Shepard raised a brow, "We're good?"

He smiled, which was in and of itself answer enough, "I told you before, we're good, Shepard. Though you could introduce us at the very least."

"Fair enough. You know, I think you'll like her— she's certainly not the prickliest company I keep..." Shepard said, shooting a look over at Jack, "And I know she'll be good for Grissom. She's far and away the most capable person I've ever met, and she wants to do something for humanity."

"Guess we're lucky to have her then," Kaidan said with a nod.

" _I've_ always felt that way."

They were silent a moment, and Shepard found herself splitting her gaze between the earnest marine and the volatile biotic. In another world, the two of them might have had quite a bit to say to one another, in spite of their opposing polarities. Hell, maybe with the reapers behind them, that world was closer than it seemed. The labels were already blurring— sometime over the course of the war to end all wars, a thorny earnestness had found a foothold in Jack, a channeled volatility in Kaidan.

Well, no harm in giving things a gentle push in the right direction, she supposed. True, Jack was thorny, but she'd never met a man quite as stalwart as Kaidan Alenko.

"You know Jack, Kaidan here is the CO of the 1st Special Operations Biotic Company…" she mentioned.

Jack didn't say anything for a moment, then slowly turned her head, "Mighta heard a thing or two about you guys. Some of my kids seemed interested."

"Well we're definitely interested in them. I didn't hear anything but praise for the barrier work they did during the war," Kaidan replied quickly, eager for the comfort of common ground, "Why don't you tell me a bit more about them?"

He walked over to the bench opposite hers and took a seat. Jack immediately stood.

"You first. Let's hear about this Company of yours—then we'll see if you make the cut," she pronounced, crossing her arms.

Kaidan smiled amiably, and leaned forward with a nod, "I can do that."

Shepard stuck around a bit longer, content to listen in silence to their conversation, throwing a hard seed pod from one of the nearby trees as many times as Eezo would chase it. Before long, she excused herself, leaving Jack and Kaidan locked in a heated debate of the role of biotics in the military, and headed back into the gala.

* * *

Shepard turned an inquiring expression to the man standing beside her. Sure enough, the whistling sound was coming from him.

She'd run into James near the entrance to Orion Hall and agreed to walk him to the hangar where he could catch an Alliance shuttle to Elysium's spaceport, as the party was finally winding down.

Cortez was already groundside. Apparently Derek Rogers had ended up inviting him on a private tour of the biotiball facilities (and there was no way James was letting him live down that choice of words, if his tone was any indication). Regardless, the two men would almost certainly spend the entire ride back to the base cooing over the athlete.

"That you whistling, Lieutenant?" she asked at last.

"Yeah, just a little song I learned tonight…" James was shooting a lazy smile out the window and into the inky black beyond, "that littler Lawson said my Australian stereotypes were out of date."

"Matilda," he corrected himself a half-second later.

"Matilda?"

"Yeah," he said, turning the smile to her, "I'm not supposed to call her the littler Lawson anymore. Matilda was her idea. Comes from some song her old lady used to sing."

"Ah," Shepard replied with a nod of understanding. Like everyone else, Oriana had finally been privy to a James Vega baptism. Unlike everyone else, she seemed to have actually had a say in the matter…

"Hey, you know what a billabong is, Commander?" His question interrupted her thoughts, and she chuckled, ignoring the fact that he'd fallen back on her old title, liking it perhaps.

Shepard adopted an incredulous expression, "You're telling me Oriana Lawson spent the night correcting your woefully inadequate knowledge of the land down under, yet somehow neglected to explain what a billabong is?"

"Come on, Commander. If you know what a billabong is, you better spill it."

"Honestly, I can't say I do," she admitted.

"Nah, me neither."

Shepard evaluated the man, who had turned back to look out the window with an expression that was deeply contented, and only slightly drunk.

"Well, what's the song about?"

He laughed, "Something about dancing, maybe? Hell if I know… couldn't understand half the words. She wouldn't tell me neither— said I had to figure it out myself. Might even have to get on my hands and knees and beg Sheila for help if the extranet doesn't come through."

"Fair warning," Shepard replied, "I don't think I've _ever_ heard Miranda use the word billabong."

"Ah, that's just your translator," he said, waving his arm dismissively, "I bet she says billabong all the time and you just don't know it. It probably means datapad, or hanar or something…"

"Nope. My translator's as mystified as I am."

"Well anyway, I gotta find out one way or another. If Matilda can speak _español_ , figure I better learn a little Aussie…"

Shepard was silent a moment, then caught his gaze and held it, "You serious about this, Lieutenant? Because if not, you need to pull up fast. I am _not_ playing around right now."

"I'm not playin' around either, Commander," he insisted, the level of intensity in his gaze closer to matching her own than she'd expected, "Like I told you before, _ciento por ciento_. All or nothing—I don't do this stuff half-way."

Her stern expression eased as she remembered his impromptu N7 induction in the refugee camp, his dedication sealed in needles and ink.

"Just how drunk are you, Lieutenant?" she added, "Do I have to worry about you getting 'billabong' tattooed across your forehead at the first 24-hour place you can find on Elysium?"

"Come on Lola, I know better than to get any tattoos in languages I don't understand. I had a buddy once thought he was getting the asari character for power on his bicep. Turned out it was a Volus symbol for suit pressurization stations. Told him he shouldn't have gotten a batarian to do it, but…" he shrugged, "Now 'Matilda' on the other hand…"

"Careful Lieutenant, she'll think you've taken up with another woman."

"Nah, she knows she's my Matilda…" he trailed off, then suddenly his face morphed into a horrified expression, "I mean not like _that_ , but… well, you know what I mean. Like I said, I'm an all or nothing kinda guy, but for the moment, it's nothing, you know?"

"Yeah, I know James," she said simply, giving him a reassuring nod.

"I just…" he glanced down off at the window again, "She's eight years my junior…"

"Eight years isn't so much," Shepard replied neutrally, "Maybe when you were eighteen and she was ten, but not so much anymore."

He eyed her, reevaluating, "You think? How much older than Miranda are you?"

She shot him a sharp look, "Why do you assume I'm older? She's four years _my_ senior."

"Hey, and you were dead for two years, so really it's like you guys are six years apart, which is pretty much the same as eight!"

His expression brightened again. She wasn't quite sure about his numbers, but for him, the arithmetic clearly added up to something significant.

"Don't worry," he added, "I know if I ever messed this up you'd beat me black and blue."

"I would _not_ beat you black and blue," Shepard demurred firmly, "I would immediately and unconditionally deliver you into the hands of her sister."

"Hey, wait a minute, Lola-"

She met his injured expression with a placid one, "What can I say, James? Mess this up and I'm gonna have to throw you under the bus if I want to win back any credibility."

Just like that, his face turned sly, "When you say it like that, kinda makes it sound a little like you're pullin' for me…"

"I might be," she said with a shrug, "but I think you'll find Miranda's _pulls_ have a bit more bite than mine. She may be known for putting a person back together, but you can't _imagine_ how many ways she can take one apart."

The shuttle had arrived and she began walking towards it.

James gulped, hurrying after her, "What ever happened to loyalty to a brother in arms? Bros before XOs, you know?"

"Bros before XOs?" Shepard repeated, with a mix of incredulousness and bemusement.

"What? Should I be saying COs instead?" he persisted, pausing by the door of the shuttle to allow a few other passengers to go ahead, "I once heard the only rank higher than an admiral is an admiral's wife..."

Her brow arched, "You're _really_ pushing your luck tonight, Lieutenant."

The pilot tapped him on the shoulder, but before he ducked into the shuttle he shot her one last grin, "It's been working out for me so far."

She waited, watching them depart. After a moment, she heard her omni-tool beep, and glanced down to see a message from Miranda.

 _ML: You will send me Lieutenant Vega's personnel file, in full._

Opportune as always. She chuckled, typing out a response. An authoritarian Miranda just begged for insubordination.

 _JS: I thought I gave you all my access codes…_

 _ML: Reset, of course. You can send those along too._

 _JS: Why do I have to be party to your snooping?_

 _ML: Because this is_ _your_ _fault._

She paused a moment, considering her response. The sparseness of text-based communication made it difficult to gauge just how much trouble she was in. As it happened, she wasn't in the dark for long.

 _ML: We'll talk about it later. Nearly done here, and I've been expressly forbidden from helping with the clean-up. Thinking of heading to bed— care to join me?_

Shepard typed out a quick affirmative, reasonably certain that the smile on her lips was the exact one James had worn as he boarded the shuttle, then strolled off in search of the Lawson responsible for it.

* * *

"You seem… happy."

They stumbled fully into the room, and Miranda laughed, capturing the other woman in a reckless kiss before the doors even managed to slip shut behind them. Shepard's mouth was sweet with asari wine, or possibly it was her own mouth, or possibly both.

Definitely both now, she decided.

"You're not nearly drunk enough," she concluded as they drew apart, breathing heavily, still tangled in each other's arms.

"Kiss me again like that and I might be," Shepard replied, and Miranda did, far too quickly for it to have been in capitulation to any request.

She kicked off her heels, a bit clumsily, but she managed, and heard Shepard doing the same with her dress shoes and socks. And how could this woman claim to be so bad at dancing when here she was, waltzing the two of them, backwards and barefoot, through a minefield of unopened crates without ever breaking their kiss?

A quarter turn and Miranda felt herself begin to fall, irrepressible laughter on her lips once more as Shepard followed her into the dip. Then her back was pressed against the bed and her front was pressed against Shepard, and the laughter had been lost in the firm press of Shepard's lips against hers.

That was when it hit her.

There was something else welling up inside of her, something as irrepressible as the laughter, or perhaps there wasn't any distinction at all. It wasn't intoxication or desire, though it had co-opted both with startling efficiency. Rather, it was exactly as Shepard had said—she was happy, _truly_ happy, without reservations or caveats, for what she was frightfully certain was the first time in her entire life.

She had a purpose, a worthy use for her energies and a way to atone all in one. Shepard was here; Oriana was safe; her father was gone and so was the Illusive Man. The war was _over_ — the future before them; and-

 _And oh, Shepard is here,_ her thoughts sang, darkening to all other considerations as lips danced the length of her neck, hands drawing down the zipper of her dress, shortly adding the garment to the debris scattered across the floor.

"Think you can manage my dress blues in this state, Miss Lawson, or shall I?" a husky voice in her ear purred.

She undid the troublesome fastening at the top in record time, determined to banish the smirk she'd heard in every one of Shepard's words. It would yield one way or another, as things caught between Miranda Lawson and Jane Shepard always did.

"You got good at that fast," Shepard chuckled, catching hands with her hands, grazing lips with her lips, "Or was it all the practice you got undressing me with your eyes toni-"

Miranda cut her off with a dizzying kiss, hands escaping to return to the buttons. There was a time for witty banter and there was a time for getting down to business. Clearly Shepard's mouth needed to be reminded what time it was. The rest of her body certainly seemed to know.

She could feel Shepard's weight, her breath, her heartbeat, but she was far from satisfied, especially after so very long without. The buzz of the alcohol only fueled the flames, making every little sensation not quite sufficient, every piece of Shepard she reclaimed not quite enough.

"Slowly," Shepard was murmuring, guiding her fingers down the line of buttons with deliberate slowness, "We spent the whole war rushing. Now we can take our time."

"Easy for you to say," Miranda protested, hands diving under the now unbuttoned coat to skim Shepard's back above the shirt, "I'm already practically naked."

Shepard evaded her lips, deliberately placing a line of kisses along her jaw, "The distance between practically naked and naked is an underappreciated stretch, Miss Lawson. You wouldn't want to miss the scenery."

She rolled her shoulders, shrugging off the coat, before slipping her fingers under the band of Miranda's bra, sliding them around to the back. Miranda breathed heavily, her own fingers digging into the springy black fabric that stretched across Shepard's back.

She arched upwards, nipping Shepard's lip admonishingly when the hooks took far too long to be undone. Shepard's she undid through the shirt, by way of demonstration, and the other woman drew back, removing shirt and bra both with tantalizing slowness. Miranda's hands felt bare flesh at last, and she urged Shepard back down so that the rest of her could feel it too.

It was true that she'd breezed by this part every time she'd been with Shepard, to say nothing of any of her previous encounters. There was never time, and the goal was just down the road, and Miranda Lawson was a goal-oriented person. Shepard was too, she supposed, in an infuriatingly roundabout way.

Which explained why her hands were lingering where she knew her leisurely attentions would have the most impact, finding her old haunts again with ease. And Miranda sifted for errant pins in the red hair she'd unbound, thinking that it was longer than usual, thinking that she missed seeing it like this, thinking of anything aside from the maddening trace of Shepard's fingers on her stomach.

Shepard finally allowed her pants to be undone, and that was a mistake because a moment later Miranda's hands were sliding down her bare thighs, dragging the fabric down after them, and a gasp from somewhere deep in her throat. And Miranda wasn't finished yet. She dragged Shepard down against her, grinding her own hips up at the same time, transforming the gasp into a low moan.

Needless to say, Miranda got her way. The pants were summarily shed, and she managed to do away entirely with clothing soon after, sending the peaked cap that had remained improbably perched atop Shepard's head sailing across the room last of all.

Still Shepard persisted, drawing out every movement, every sensation. Relentless, bold, indomitable Shepard, now tireless and tender and oh-so-thorough. And Miranda was happy to be her nemesis, her downfall, reveling in every quiver she introduced into those carefully controlled movements, every involuntary vocalization that took them both by surprise.

But for all of her interference, Miranda found herself grudgingly being coaxed over to Shepard's way of thinking. There was something to be said for slow— for the measured reveal of flesh, the lure of heat and curves through clothing, the agonizing drag of hips.

"Who's the tease now?" she murmured breathlessly as Shepard ground against her at a pace that deliberately defied the staccato of their heartbeats.

"Not teasing, Miss Lawson,"–and damnit, of course she was when she called her _that_ —"Just laboring under the inspiration of three little words."

"I love you…I need you…I want you," her breath hitched and she shut her eyes tightly against what she knew was finally coming, "take your pick."

Shepard's forehead was against hers, their noses grazing.

"All true, but you knew that already," she managed, and Miranda could hear the fraying at the edge of her voice as well.

"Then what?"

Shepard placed a kiss on her lips and Miranda wondered if she would answer at all, wondered if it even mattered. She knew the kiss was just Shepard's way of gritting her teeth against the rising tempo threatening to overtake her.

"The words, Shepard?" Miranda reminded, nudging her cheek, nearly past caring. She felt warm breath against her ear, like Shepard was getting around to it, dragging it out like every other aspect of this night.

" _We have time_ ," she intoned at last, like it was the most profound truth she'd ever pronounced. Miranda smiled, her grip on the other woman tightening.

"Finally," she breathed.

"Finally," Shepard agreed.

* * *

Shepard yawned, trudging down the hallway back towards Miranda's room, a steaming cup in each hand. Jack had told her she looked like hell but grudgingly assented when she'd shown up at the door begging for coffee, dragging Eezo off her with an offhanded biotic pull.

Of course Jack herself looked fresh as a daisy, or as close to that as she ever got, bloody biotic… Eventually, two paper cups were foisted into her hands (Jack didn't have spare mugs or other shit like that, as she put it) and she was shoved back out the door.

"This isn't gonna be a thing again now that you're shacking up with the princess, is it Shepard?" Jack had called after her, leaning against the doorframe, "You coming by and bothering me about random shit?"

Shepard had shrugged, "Maybe this time instead of your tattoos, you can tell me about your students."

Jack had smirked at that, crossing her arms, "Maybe this time you won't just come by whenever you damn well please. I'm gonna have grading and shit to do soon, but I guess you can tag along when I take Eezo out."

Then she'd disappeared back into her apartment and Shepard had made her way back to Miranda's.

Slipping into the bedroom, she was surprised to find the woman she'd left peacefully slumbering now leaning against a pile of pillows, datapad in one hand, activated omni-tool on the other. Fresh as a daisy, just like Jack. Bloody biotics… she was surrounded by them.

"Morning, Miss Lawson," Shepard drawled, leaning down to offer her a kiss and one of the cups.

"Good morning, Shepard," she replied, accepting both, "And just where have you been?"

"Kitchen still needs to be set up so I ran over to Jack's for some coffee."

Miranda paused mid-sip, eyeing the cup suspiciously.

"Oh don't do that, you know Jack's not going to poison you. She's always been more of a smear-the-walls-with-you kind of girl."

"I didn't say it would be intentional…" Miranda replied, nonetheless venturing another tentative sip. Her omni-tool had vanished, but her attention had migrated back to the datapad, scanning rapidly across the text as she continued to nurse her drink.

Shepard watched her a moment. This morning, perfection came in the form of mussed hair and slightly swollen lips, an unadorned neck and bare shoulders leading down to the teasing hem of a sheet, and Shepard found herself feeling possessive. She set her own drink on the nearby nightstand and did the same with the half-empty cup the other woman absently handed her.

"Hello," Miranda murmured, lips curling into a smile as the marine unceremoniously crawled into her lap. She held the datapad aloft, giving Shepard the opportunity to settle into place against her chest before loosely encircling her with her arms.

"What's this?" Shepard asked, scanning the datapad now resting against her thigh.

"Just a tentative accounting of our numbers from last night. I should have something a bit firmer later in the day."

Shepard's eyebrows drew together, "I'm not sure I'm reading this right."

"Which part?" Miranda replied, resting her chin on the strong shoulder to read along. Shepard pointed to the very large number at the bottom.

"That," she explained, with a smirk Shepard could feel against her cheek, "is our initial net profit forecast."

"Fifteen million credits?"

"…and this," she said, activating the vid screen on the far wall and skipping back along the newsvid that was already queued up. Shepard instantly recognized the handsome face of the biotiball player from the previous night. It was his voice, but the words were Miranda's.

"-has never won a biotiball championship at the university level. Grissom Academy is home to some of the most talented human biotics in the galaxy, but they just don't have the proper facilities. That's why I'm proud to announce, on behalf of the entire Seattle Sorcerers Biotiball Club, a foundational donation for a brand new suite of student athletic facilities, including a state-of-the-art biotiball court. It's just our way of saying _Go Admirals_!"

There was a quick blip as the screen switched back to a reporter, "That was Derek Rogers, leading point rusher for the Seattle Sorcerers. Avery Purcell, owner of the Washington Hackers, has already vowed to match the Sorcerers' donation credit-to-credit, and a number of other clubs are expected to follow suit. Rosenkov Materials meanwhile, has announced plans to contribute a major in-kind donation-"

The vid cut off, but Shepard continued to stare at the financial graphic frozen on the screen. She spun in Miranda's arms so they were face to face, planting her knees on either side of the other woman's outstretched legs.

"Incredible…" she marveled, "And people say I do the impossible!"

Miranda's smile didn't contradict her, "All this in spite of the fact that _someone_ spent half the night interrupting me by playing matchmaker, and the other half vanishing to who knows where…"

"Look, Miranda, I know I'm not supposed to be leading every charge anymore, but there was a man too shy to speak to his favorite biotiball player and a varren that really had to use the bathroom. Who was going to handle that if not Commander Shepard?"

" _Admiral_ Shepard," Miranda corrected.

"Where's the hat that says so?" Shepard countered, following Miranda's conspicuous glance to where it lay overturned on the floor near the entrance to the bathroom. She shot Miranda a smirk, but the other woman still seemed to be lingering on the memory of the previous night.

"Biotiballs and baby krogan…" she chuckled deeply, finally setting aside the datapad and lacing her fingers behind Shepard's neck, "You're very cute— you know that?"

Shepard grinned, leaning into the touch, "Liked that one?"

Miranda nuzzled Shepard's nose with hers, murmuring an affirmative.

"Like I said, I didn't have much choice. Cortez is completely in love with the guy, and I'm _completely_ in love with the lady, so…"

"Then it's a good thing the lady is completely in love with you. The lieutenant may or may not be so lucky." Miranda drew her in for a catalyzing kiss, sending all the sensations from the night before shooting back. Shepard tasted coffee, and wondered if a kiss could get her wired as well as intoxicated.

"Why are you dressed?" Miranda was frowning against her lips.

"Didn't think Jack would open the door if I showed up naked."

"Why are you dressed _now_?" she clarified, already dragging down the zipper of the hoodie.

" _That_ would seem to be an oversight on your part…"

Miranda teased the newly exposed skin with her lips, placing a line of kisses across Shepard's clavicle, "Hm… naked or not, I'm not sure I care for Jack seeing you like this."

"If it helps," Shepard inhaled sharply at the sensation of teeth, "she didn't much care for what she saw… said I looked like hell."

"I'll never agree with that woman about anything," Miranda sighed happily.

"I'm not so sure you want to be doing this," Shepard said while she still could.

"Hm?" Miranda's lips were moving lower, and she seemed to be only half-listening.

"This is the military," Shepard went on, "They don't order you to take the night off without telling you what time to show up for the morning debrief."

"Come to think of it, _you_ used to do the same thing," she added, burrowing her face affectionately into the dark hair before her.

"I doubt I ever bothered ordering you to take the night off," Miranda demurred, "You always seemed to find the assurance that I would be taking the night off as well far more motivating…"

Shepard felt a jolt shoot through her entire system as Miranda's legs drew up, sliding her impossibly closer. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply of the familiar scent of Miranda's hair, feeling arms snake around her middle.

"But yes, there'll be a debrief in a couple of hours and I should have breakfast and a shower beforehand…"

Shepard held her breath, hoping Miranda's mouth and limbs would reconcile their intentions soon, ideally in a way that involved either not touching her like that or just kissing her, damnit.

"And yet," Miranda went on, "These three little words keep echoing in my head…"

"Meeting at 10?" Shepard suggested, managing to keep her tone even and earning a chuckle from the other woman.

"Slow is _lovely_ , Shepard," Miranda withdrew one arm, and her finger traced an agonizingly unhurried trail down the path the zipper had revealed, from the base of her neck, over the join of her bra, down her stomach and past her navel, halting squarely on the button of her pants, "But don't think for a moment that I'm going to let you forget the merits of fast."

Then the button was undone, and so was Shepard, and the only thought that crystallized in her head was _finally_.


	7. I: Like Sister, Like Sister

_Thanks for the reviews and favs! Next chapter is just about ready. In the meantime, here's one final interlude, set just after Sanctuary. It never really sat well with me that at the end of that mission Shepard left a wounded Miranda and her sister to fend for themselves..._

* * *

"Commander."

The woman turned immediately, offering her a distracted smile.

"Oriana, how are you holding up?"

Though she managed to return the expression, she wasn't quite certain how to answer the question. She'd had a shower and applied medi-gel to the few spots that needed it. She'd even taken a small walk around the crew deck, idly hoping to run into the soldier who had taken her by the arm and led her back through Sanctuary on the Commander's heels.

She was learning that medi-gel, for all its incredible applications, was a highly situational miracle. More than once she'd found herself wondering which would fade from her temple first, the livid bruise or the phantom sensation of the barrel of a gun. The memory of the agonizing shuttle ride was still fresh, her sister leaning heavily on Shepard, Shepard already prepping the ship's doctor over the comm. It was hard to say which of the two of them had been trembling more.

"Much improved, thank you," she said at last, settling on the relatively uncomplicated emotion of gratitude, "If you hadn't come when you did..."

The commander's expression turned pensive, and she returned her gaze to the unconscious form before her, resting her chin on folded hands, "A minute earlier would have been better."

"And a minute later would have been much, much worse," Oriana countered, taking the empty seat on the other side of the bed.

With the sheet pulled up to her chin, hiding the wound at her side and the bruises on her neck and hands, one could almost believe Miranda to be merely sleeping. Indeed, her sister looked more peaceful now than Oriana had ever seen her. When she awoke, she'd still have to reckon with what had happened on Horizon, but at least her body's recovery would have a head-start by the time her mind took its turn.

"I'm pleased to say these readings are starting to stabilize," the English-sounding doctor remarked, looking up from the datapad she was reviewing, "I'm Karin Chakwas, by the way, Chief Medical Officer of the Normandy."

"A pleasure to meet you Doctor, and thank you for helping my sister."

"The pleasure is mine, Miss Lawson," the doctor replied, smiling genuinely, "Always happy to see an old Normandy alum, even if Shepard only ever bothers bringing them around when they've undergone massive trauma. In the interest of comfort, I administered a sedative shortly after your arrival but it should be wearing off shortly."

"Yes, I noticed the monitor was already picking up an increase in neural activity," Oriana said, nodding as she scrutinized the screen by the cot. Shepard and the doctor exchanged looks, a knowing smile breaking out on the latter's face.

"Like sister, like sister, I suppose," Chakwas murmured, returning to her datapad.

Just then, the monitor beeped softly, and all eyes turned to the patient lying before them. Oriana held her breath. After what seemed like an eternity, her sister's eyelids fluttered at last. Not an instant later, they shot open, registering panic. Miranda hastily turned, resting her gaze first on Oriana, then on Shepard. Only then did the dread drain away.

With a heavy sigh, her head fell back onto the pillow. The relieved smile that broke out across her face was one Oriana hadn't quite realized her sister capable of.

"You had us scared there a minute, Miss Lawson," Shepard said softly. That careworn expression looked so strange on her— this woman who only ever wore a look of grim determination in the vids.

Stranger still, she'd called Miranda 'Miss Lawson,' though Oriana had been under the impression that they were somewhat closer than that. That said, it wasn't exactly a 'Miss Lawson' like the one Dr. Chakwas had used to address her. While she was puzzling over this, her sister spoke.

"Wish you'd gotten there a bit sooner," she remarked, "With both of us there, Kai Leng wouldn't have stood a chance."

Again, Shepard and the doctor exchanged looks, Chakwas adopting a bemused expression and muttering under her breath about how there were bound to be _some_ differences.

"We'll deal with him soon enough," the Commander said, perfectly recreating the expression from the vids.

Her sister eyed the woman, scrutinizing her from top to bottom before speaking again.

"You're still in your armor?" she ventured, "But no, I would have to have been out longer than that…"

Realization settled in her eyes.

"You're going after him aren't you?"

Somehow, Oriana knew this 'him' wasn't the swordsman who'd attacked them on Sanctuary. There was too much unease in her sister's eyes, too much emotion altogether. Not unlike when she inquired about their father, actually…

Shepard nodded, and Miranda's expression grew fierce.

"You'll have to be ready for anything."

A wry expression settled on Shepard's features, "With this war going on a year and counting, I'm nothing if not ready for anything."

"Do _not_ underestimate him, Shepard."

"Trust me, I won't," Shepard insisted, "But I've got a good team, and whatever comes up, we'll deal with it. I'm bringing EDI along, just in case. She should be able to deal with any particularly nasty tricks he has up his sleeve."

Miranda blinked, "EDI? As in the ship's AI?"

"Indeed, former Operative Lawson. I am now equipped with a mobile combat unit for groundside missions," a disembodied voice responded, "I have undergone extensive preparation, and should be well-equipped to counter any number of Cerberus programs, regardless of platform."

Miranda looked unconvinced, "He's bound to have anticipated this. He _will_ have countermeasures in place." Her gaze was locked intently with Shepard's, but it was EDI who responded.

"As will I," the voice affirmed, "Our past associations should not limit our present contributions, wouldn't you agree, former Operative Lawson?"

There was a moment of silence, though Shepard and her sister seemed to be having some private debate with their eyes.

"Miranda, EDI. Please just… call me Miranda, I suppose…" her sister shook her head, "Who else are you bringing?"

Shepard chuckled, a smile returning to her face. Oriana had always thought the expression from the vids admirable, but she was finding that the commander's softer expressions certainly had their charm.

"Well, since it's my favorite ex-XO asking… I was thinking Garrus. There's bound to be plenty of shields for him and EDI both, plus I have a feeling his assault rifle might come in handy if we find ourselves up against a crowd."

Miranda's brow knitted, "You don't think he's too redundant? That squad's quite tech heavy, and you won't be bringing anyone with biotics. And do you really need _two_ snipers?"

Shepard shrugged, "The Illusive Man seems to be favoring cannon fodder over heavily-armored or well-trained units these days. No telling if he's cooked up something special of course, but like I said, I'm confident we can shoot our way across that bridge when we come to it."

"Also," she added, "you can _never_ have too many snipers."

"We'll have to disagree on that point," Miranda muttered, and Oriana got the feeling it wasn't the first time they'd had this debate.

In any case, her sister didn't seem entirely reassured. She turned to peruse her monitor, thoughtful.

"I don't suppose there's any chance-"

"Not remotely," Chakwas cut in, "I would have tied you down already if I thought you might so much as make it to the elevator. You're letting Shepard's penchant for exotic injuries rub off on you, though I suppose I might be finding myself grateful for the practice in the near future."

The doctor shot Shepard a pointed look, which the commander deftly shrugged off.

"Take it up with the Illusive Man. He develops them— I just put bullets between their eyes."

Chakwas nodded, "Then it sounds like you're well-equipped to take it up with him on my behalf. "

Just then, a different voice came over the comm, "Commander, ETA to Cronos Station is fifteen minutes. Admiral Hackett wants a debrief before we head in."

"Tell him I'll catch up with him in the shuttle. EDI, I'll grab Garrus and meet you down there."

"Shepard…" her sister's voice was softer than usual, and a hand slipped out from under the sheet to catch the armored one of the Commander.

"I know," Shepard replied, picking up her helmet with her unencumbered hand, "I'll be careful."

"Besides," she added, "If I get myself beat up, they'll carry me straight to the med bay, so you'll be the first to know."

Pausing at the door, she shot each of them a parting wave, "Miss Lawson, Miss Lawson."

"I mean it Shepard, I'm not patching you up again," Miranda called after her.

"Well hell, I didn't even know that was an option," Chakwas muttered.

The med bay became suddenly quiet after that. Shifting in her seat, Oriana let her gaze drift between her sister and the doctor. The frown hadn't left Miranda's face and Chakwas seemed to be checking her supplies for the third time. A thought occurred.

"EDI?" she said hesitantly, "Would you be able to update us on your progress?"

"Oh no EDI, please just focus on the assault," her sister interjected.

"I would be happy to provide periodic updates," EDI replied, "The impact of such low-level tasks on my combat effectiveness is negligible. I have studied this extensively in light of the fact that Jeff's stress metrics increase exponentially in accordance with any delay in responding to his queries when I am groundside."

"EDI also occasionally updates me on medical issues, it's really no trouble," Chakwas confirmed.

"What, do you guys take bets or something on how many times Shepard's gonna get herself shot?" the other voice came over the comm, "Because I want in on that."

"It would not be in your interest to accept such a wager, Jeff. Not only do I have access to better data and more refined statistical models, I am also capable of skewing the total through the calculated application of friendly fire," EDI chimed in.

"That was a joke," she added a moment later.

"Jeff, please get off the comm. EDI might be capable of running multiple processes at once, but in my experience _you_ are not," Chakwas chided.

"Alright, alright, I'll just get back to flyin' the ship," he grumbled, "Joker out."

Her sister sighed, "Could you give us an update, EDI?"

"Certainly. The current count is one."

"She's already been shot?" Oriana gasped.

"Her shields, Miss Lawson," Chakwas explained, "EDI just means that her shields are being hit."

"EDI, what is the _mission status_ ," Miranda clarified, "I don't need to hear about every time Shepard gets shot any more than Joker needs to hear about every time you do."

"Understood," EDI affirmed, "We are currently engaging Cerberus forces in one of the fighter bays. From tapping into their communications, I have learned that the station is already on the highest level of alert, with all combat forces scrambled and sensitive data being either destroyed or otherwise rendered useless for Alliance forces. I am countering these efforts on as many fronts as I can."

Miranda said nothing, though her frown deepened.

"By the way, Jeff and I are pleased to hear that you will make a full recovery, Miranda."

"Thank you, EDI," her sister said with a sigh.

"Jeff asked me to inform you that Liara is now occupying your former quarters. He is of the opinion that she would not be averse to sharing, though I do not agree with his assessment," EDI chatted away, "Nonetheless, I informed him that based on trends established during your most recent occupation of the Normandy, it is statistically more probable that you would choose to sleep in the Captain's Cabin."

And just like that, the pieces fell into place. The color that appeared on her sister's cheeks was vivid.

"You… and Commander Shepard?" She really hadn't meant to sound so astonished. Or to be so astonished, for that matter, "Since when?"

"Well, since… just after you and I first spoke on Illium, actually," Miranda replied.

"Well, well, Garrus was right after all," Chakwas murmured.

Oriana shook her head, "Why didn't you tell me, Miri?"

Add blindsided to the list of expressions her sister was capable of…

Miranda frowned, "I'm sorry, Ori, honestly I am. It's just Shepard and I haven't really been together much, _in any sense_ , since the start of the war. We've both had a lot to do and-"

"Well, have you been keeping in contact at least?" she interrupted.

"What?"

…and perplexed.

"Pardon the interruption, but I thought you would want to know. We are clear of the hangar bay and moving deeper into the facility. Cerberus did attempt to vent the bay, however I was able to override their controls," EDI announced, "I felt it prudent to report this _after_ a positive outcome had been achieved."

For just a moment, her sister's eyes squeezed shut, and Oriana felt a sliver of guilt for prodding her at a time like this.

"That's really incredible, Miri," she added with a reassuring smile, "My own sister dating Commander Shepard… You are dating, right? You're not married or anything?"

" _No_ ," her sister hastily replied, "Like I said, Ori, we're hardly even dating."

"But you love her," Oriana clarified.

Miranda laughed outright, "Yes, me and the entire rest of the galaxy."

"If you'll forgive me sticking my nose into it, the rest of the galaxy loves Commander Shepard," the doctor interjected, "Loving Jane is quite a different thing."

Before either of them could respond, EDI's voice rang over the comm, "We have discovered a cache of intact data. Shepard is reviewing it while I override the adjoining lock."

"Bet Shepard appreciates you doing that for her," the helmsman's voice chimed in over the comm, "Has anyone else ever noticed that none of the rest of the squad ever offer to help with the locks? Like Tali'll just be standing there checking her suit seals while Shepard tries all the possible combinations-"

"EDI," Miranda interrupted, "What sort of data is Shepard accessing?"

"It appears to be an archive of video logs relating to the Lazarus Project."

Immediately, her sister's brow furrowed, "Is she alright?"

"Affirmative. Shields are at maximum capacity and vitals are strong."

Miranda took a steadying breath.

"If she needs me to…explain…anything…" she trailed off.

There was a moment of silence.

"Negative. The Commander has given orders to press on. We are advancing."

The furrow in her sister's brow deepened.

"Lazarus?" Oriana murmured, "As in the man who was brought back from the dead?"

"Or in this case, the woman," the AI interjected.

"That's enough, EDI!"

Oriana flinched, just slightly, but of course her sister noticed and immediately glanced away. The two of them sat there a moment, each feeling guilty about the other.

"Doctor," Miranda said at last, "Is there still an observation area on the port side of this deck?"

Chakwas nodded, "It's a common area these days, though everyone should be at their stations now, so I'd imagine it's quite unoccupied. Would you be more comfortable there?"

Miranda nodded.

"Will she be alright?" Oriana worried.

"I wouldn't recommend the VR machine, or the bar, but she should be fine so long as you limit your activities to observation or poker," Chakwas replied with a reassuring smile, "If anything does come up, I'll be just down the hall."

The doctor showed Oriana how to adjust the cot so that her sister was in a sitting position, then unlatched it from the wall. Conveniently, it was equipped with wheels, and she was able to push her sister over to the observation deck easily enough.

On the way they passed a wall of plaques, etched with names she didn't recognize. She saw her sister's eyes linger there, but when she slowed, they snapped away, and she pressed on.

The room was striking; enormous windows which she imagined normally opened out onto the black expanse of space, now eclipsed by the bright, roiling surface of a red supergiant. She could see Alliance warships flitting to and fro, in dogged pursuit of Cerberus forces. Beyond them, an unassuming station loomed.

A sudden wrinkle in the image brought Oriana out of her reverie.

"Oh, it's just an emulator… for a minute I thought we were looking out an actual window," she remarked.

"Normally we would be," her sister replied, "It's only during combat that the ablative plating covers this section of the hull."

There was a moment of silence.

"You know a lot about this ship, Miri," Oriana ventured at last, a hint of bitterness seeping into her tone, "You know a lot about everything."

Before her sister could reply, a new voice sounded over the ship's comm.

"Crew, this is XO Alenko. Admiral Hackett's given the order to engage the enemy on all fronts. Let's give them everything we've got."

She knew the Normandy had to have top-of-the-line inertial dampeners, but Oriana nonetheless felt her stomach lurch as the ship veered into battle. Unconsciously, she took her sister's hand, and was surprised to feel it close even more tightly around hers. She glanced over at her sister's face, and felt another stab of guilt.

"Sorry to be a brat," she said, giving her sister's hand a squeeze before setting it gently back at her side, "I just hate being left in the dark, you know?"

Miranda sighed, like she knew all too well.

"I'm sure you've gathered that this is a Cerberus base?"

"Not just any Cerberus base, _the_ Cerberus base," Oriana surmised, "Admiral Hackett wouldn't be here otherwise."

Her sister raised a brow, "Just how much do you already know?"

"I'm not quite sure," Oriana shrugged, "It would probably be safest just to tell me everything."

Miranda scoffed, folding her arms across her chest.

"Right," she began, to Oriana's great surprise, "No doubt you remember that not long after the Battle of the Citadel the Normandy was reported lost, and Commander Shepard officially listed as killed in action."

"Of course," Oriana nodded, "It was the first time I'd ever seen my dad cry. The commander had just been named a Spectre, defeated Saren, and won humanity a seat on the Council. Then just like that, she was gone… people were stunned, we were _heartbroken_."

"The Lazarus Project is the reason Shepard came back," her sister explained, "I was the lead."

Oriana turned sharply, regarding at her sister with sudden awe, "Then… you saved her life? That's…" she smiled in spite of herself, "that's really romantic."

"I assure you, it wasn't," Miranda replied dryly, "It is, however, how we first met."

Oriana's gaze returned to the battle silently raging outside the window, "But there's a Cerberus connection. There must be or Shepard wouldn't have been turning up files about it in their base."

Her sister took a deep breath, "Ori, Project Lazarus was a Cerberus project. I was the Cerberus officer in charge."

"Oh."

Oriana realized a moment too late how cruel it was to let her sister dangle on that ambiguous syllable.

"He... our father said you worked for Cerberus, I just assumed he was…" she trailed off.

"Lying?" her sister provided testily, "Always a good assumption, where that man is concerned."

"But not this time," Oriana pointed out.

Miranda winced slightly, like it pained her to admit it.

"No," she conceded, though her teeth, "Not this time."

"That doesn't mean you should believe anything else he said," she added.

After another moment of silence, Oriana spoke up, "He told me we aren't really sisters. That we're something else..."

Miranda's eyes narrowed dangerously, "He's a liar, Ori-"

Oriana shook her head, "He didn't lie, but he was _wrong_."

She turned to her sister with a sincere expression, "Why Miri? You could have done anything. Why would you work for an organization like Cerberus?"

Miranda glanced away, "I had my reasons…"

"Your reasons?" Oriana eyed her skeptically, "For working with terrorists?"

Her sister looked like she'd been struck, "Cerberus didn't used to be like this! We stood for humanity— we were the underdogs, for god's sake! We brought Shepard back and stopped the collector attacks on human colonies-"

Oriana's eyes widened, "That was you too?"

" _Yes_ ," Miranda insisted, "This insanity about attacking the Citadel and turning our own people into monsters all began after the war started— after I left."

"Oh."

Her sister gave her a look.

"Sorry," she defended, "It's just it sounds like you did some really important work with them, and when they started to go bad you left."

A ripple of guilt moved across her sister's face, "That's… a generous way to see it, Ori."

"No it isn't," Oriana shook her head and set her jaw, "You and father both act like this is some shameful secret, but if what you say is true you didn't do anything wrong. In fact, the whole galaxy owes you an enormous debt. You don't need to explain yourself to anyone."

A small smile appeared on Miranda's face, "Anyone except you?"

"Well, yes," Oriana replied, crossing her arms stubbornly, "I'm your _sister_."

Miranda nodded. Nothing more needed to be said about that.

"By the way," she added, "You don't have to call him father. He certainly doesn't deserve the name, and in your case, there's a man out there who does."

Oriana smiled fondly, "That's my _dad_. And I know I don't have to call Henry Lawson 'father', not any more than I have to call myself Oriana Lawson. Unlike you, _because of you_ , I had a choice. But those things have value because they're something we share, just you and I. That man is only my father in the sense that he's my tie to you."

There was a light in her sister's eyes now that Oriana had never seen before. It made her feel tremendous and proud.

And bold, as it turned out.

"Miri," she said, "all my life you've been there for me. You've watched over me and protected me and helped me. But I'm _your_ sister too. I wish you'd let me be there for you once in a while."

"I know there's only so much I can do," Oriana went on, not yet daring to glance at her sister, "I'm not a soldier. I haven't been through most of the things you have, and from what I saw on Sanctuary, there's a certain Alliance commander out there who'd do _anything_ for you, but I-"

"You're my sister," Miranda provided, voice thick with conviction.

Oriana nodded. Nothing more needed to be said about that.

She felt her sister draw in a deep sigh, her gaze locked on the window before them. In those dark eyes, so like her own, Oriana saw the reflections of weapons firing, the flaring points of exploding ships. Cerberus ships.

"Can you imagine," Miranda began, "how it feels to watch your life's work reduced to rubble? To want it?"

Oriana winced inwardly at the flicker of open pain that moved across her sister's gaze, but forced herself to remain placid. She'd asked for this, and she had no intention of proving unequal to the task.

"The most unlikely things can be rebuilt, you of all people should know that," she said softly, "And that down there? That's not your life's work. Your life's work is the human colonies that have this last chance to fight. It's the woman battling her way through that station. It's me."

Miranda's brow furrowed, "But how do you leave an entire life behind? How do you start from scratch?"

Oriana thought about that a moment. She didn't know the answer, but then, maybe that was an answer.

"You know better than I do, Miri, better than anyone," Oriana intoned, "and this time, you're not alone."

Her sister turned to her, a funny sort of smile on her face, "I wasn't alone last time either, Ori."

She'd been so determined to be the strong one, but suddenly Oriana felt something wrench inside of her. She leaned down, pulling her sister into a firm embrace, careful to avoid her injuries. She felt her sister lean into her. Perhaps she'd managed something after all.

Suddenly, EDI's voice sounded over the comm, "We are engaging Kai Leng. Disengaging comms to allow for maximum combat efficacy."

The room fell silent again. Miranda's arms stiffened around her.

"Do you worry about her?" Oriana practically wondered aloud.

"Constantly," she heard her sister murmur into her shoulder, "I try my best not to think about her."

"Does it work?"

"No."

Oriana gave her sister yet another squeeze. The notion of worrying about Commander Shepard was a foreign one. Most people she knew considered the commander nothing short of immortal these days. Then again, Miranda of all people knew in clinical detail how close to death she'd actually come…

"Sometimes I get the feeling she thinks she owes her life to the galaxy," Miranda continued, voice just short of a whisper.

"If anything, it sounds like she owes her life to you," Oriana replied.

"Perhaps," Miranda continued, "But she's fighting to save us all, and I know she'd spend every last piece of herself to do it."

Oriana bit her lip. As if her sister would have done any less for her.

"She'll be alright," Oriana declared, unsure herself where her tone found its certainty, "She-"

"Kai Leng is dead."

The AI's monotone announcement echoed through the room.

"The commander sustained only minor injuries," she added, in a lighter tone.

Oriana felt herself let out a shaky breath _._

 _Thank god…_

After a moment, she gently drew back, and offered her sister a smile, "We'd better head back to the med bay. Can't have her looking for you there and not finding you."

"I suppose not," Miranda said, her poise restored, "I must say, I'm interested to learn what she calls _minor injuries_ these days..."

"Ori," she added, as they reached the door, "Thank you… for listening."

"Anytime," Oriana replied, "I _mean_ that."

Everything happened quickly after that. They were just settling back into the med bay when the commander and a turian rushed in, still in full armor, the turian limping slightly. The doctor took him behind a privacy screen, examining a deep gash that had found a home between two plates at his side.

Shepard wrenched off her helmet, falling into the chair beside Miranda's cot. The two of them had just begun speaking in low tones when the voice of the pilot rang out on the comm, relaying a summons from the admiral himself.

Their words died, and Shepard pushed up out of the chair. She suddenly seemed so very tired.

Her sister reached up with both hands and pulled down that face, still plastered with sweat and blood and a grim expression, placing a kiss squarely in the midst of it all. Their eyes fell shut, and Oriana looked away, ashamed to be gawking at a moment that felt so supremely private.

A moment later, she heard the creak of armor as the commander rushed out of the med bay, the red swoosh of her hair and the glowing lights on the back of her armor disappearing behind the partition that led to the elevator. It was the last Oriana would see of her for some time.

Shortly after that, they had word from Dr. Chakwas that the Normandy was rendezvousing with the SSV Orizaba. They were to be transferred aboard.

"Doctor Osei is an excellent physician," Chakwas reassured them as she accompanied them through the CIC, "So long as you happen to be human…"

Her sister sat in silence, expression distant, lost in her own thoughts. The two marines assigned to escort them were glancing around in awe, occasionally exchanging excited whispers of which she generally only caught the words _Normandy_ or _Shepard._ Oriana found herself no less fervently hoping the red-haired commander would appear, but it was not to be.

As they neared the airlock, she shot one last vain look into the cockpit, but the only person she saw was a large man in a dress uniform, conversing with the pilot. As they headed out, he turned, shooting her a smile and a wave just as they passed out of sight. By the time she realized who he was, they were boarding the Orizaba, and it was far too late to reciprocate the gesture, let alone express any of the other things she'd hoped to say.

She wondered if he would survive the coming battle, which inevitably led to wondering if any of them would. But she knew better than to allow that mindset to linger. With conviction in her step, she hurried over to where Miranda was gazing with a bit too much interest at a squad of Cerberus fighters salvaged from the base. She and her sister would have to look after each other, and those damned brave, stupid marines would have to do the same.


	8. The Bigger Picture

_A/N: Whew- sorry for the wait on this one! Took some time to get my act together with the holidays and whatnot, but I figured I couldn't miss updating on today of all days :)_ _As always, thank you for taking the time to read and review…  
_

* * *

As the apartment door swished closed behind her, Miranda caught the sound of a familiar voice, an undertone of static rendering it even more gravelly than usual.

She slipped off her shoes and padded softly into the next room, where Shepard stood before the projected face of Admiral Hackett, their conversation abruptly halted.

"Ah, Miss Lawson. I hope things are going well?" the holo inquired.

Miranda nodded, stepping up beside Shepard, "By all accounts, the gala was a major success, so yes, I certainly think so."

"…sir."

She raised a brow, glancing over at Shepard.

"I certainly think so, _sir_ ," Shepard prompted gently.

The bright, gridded image of Hackett gave her a pointed look, "You can chastise Miss Lawson for forgetting her sir's as soon as you start forgetting yours, Admiral. Hackett Out."

The figure dissipated into points of light, and Miranda tapped her omni-tool to bring on the lights in the suddenly darkened room.

"I see you've been busy," she remarked, giving Shepard an appraising look.

"I see you've been busy, _ma'am_ ," Shepard corrected, lacing fingers at the small of Miranda's back and drawing her close, "Don't forget, I outrank you too."

Miranda leaned into the kiss, pausing just as their noses grazed.

"Not in here you don't," she whispered, before closing the gap.

When they pulled apart, Shepard was smiling, "Everything go okay today?"

"Of course," she replied, allowing Shepard to pull away her jacket, "The school is flush with donors; our students are on the top of every recruiter's list; I was right and Jack was wrong…"

Shepard chuckled, moving to the closet to hang it.

"Shepard?"

"Hm?"

"What did Admiral Hackett want?"

Shepard shrugged, "Mostly just checking in."

There was a pause.

"Mostly?"

Shepard emerged from the closet to find Miranda half-undressed, eying her skeptically, hands on her hips.

"It's just that my admittedly limited experience with Admiral Hackett is that he doesn't just check in," she went on, "He calls when he needs biotic extremists talked down or a nuclear payload recovered or a spy retrieved from a batarian prison. So what was it this time?"

Shepard sighed, "It's nothing like that. Nothing _at all_ like that. For my first posting he wants me back on the Normandy, and he wants us on a goodwill tour."

"A goodwill tour?" Miranda raised a brow, heading over to one of the storage crates to retrieve a change of clothing, "Were those his words?"

Shepard snorted, "I doubt it."

"Well, I don't suppose they're giving you a choice," Miranda said, digging further into the crate.

"Like I said, I don't think it was his idea. If I resisted, I'm sure he'd back me."

"But you won't," Miranda observed, turning to look her in the eyes.

Sighing again, Shepard turned away, "It won't be like before. Mostly diplomatic stuff, my old crew all promoted out from under me, still no EDI…"

"But?"

"But," Shepard swallowed, "I would like to see the galaxy…what we've gained...what we've lost…"

"That could take some time," Miranda remarked, "There's a lot of both to see."

Shepard turned back. Miranda had finished changing and was watching her with an unreadable expression.

"What?"

Miranda shook her head, "Nothing, I was just…thinking that I'm going to miss you."

Shepard gave her a funny look, taking a step forward, "Is that so strange?"

"Not strange," she clarified, expression thoughtful, "Just trying to pinpoint exactly when it was between the war we spent apart and the last several months you spent unconscious that I became accustomed to having you around."

Shepard's smile was bittersweet, "We could still run off and live with the thresher maws."

"Tempting, but we might have to put that plan on the back burner. The galaxy still needs its hero, even after the war's won," Miranda replied.

Shepard crossed her arms, "Heroes have needs too, you know…"

Miranda's expression softened.

"Well," she conceded, coaxing Shepard's arms free from their tight fold and around herself instead, "I suppose we all have to do our part…"

They leaned together a moment, reveling in easy proximity, for the moment at least.

"I still can't believe you're leaving me here with Jack," Miranda muttered at length.

Shepard smiled, "At least it's better than prison…"

* * *

"Is prison still an option?"

The flickering image and the static-laced audio hardly did Shepard's laughter justice.

Miranda groaned inwardly. Just one solar week since Shepard had departed, and she was already thinking like this? She was utterly screwed.

"Come on," Shepard chided, "It's _like_ being in prison. You all have to wear the same clothes and eat in a big cafeteria. I'm sure having a former inmate there only adds to the illusion."

"I know I'm supposed to be paying my dues," Miranda conceded, "But this is _Jack_. 'Cruel and unusual' was practically the full text of her psych report."

Shepard shook her head, "Miranda Lawson whining— I never thought I'd see the day. Just tell me everything else is going okay?"

"Yes, fine," she replied dismissively, "I'm very good at this sort of thing, you know."

"I know."

There was a moment of silence on the comm.

"I miss you," Shepard ventured, the bittersweet smile on her face still somewhat fuzzy and indistinct.

"I miss you too," Miranda admitted, "It's strange, I never thought someone like me could get so used to waking up next to another person."

Shepard raised a brow, "That _is_ strange, because I'm pretty sure I was used to it the first time I woke up next to you, which, may I remind you, was not the first time I went to sleep that way."

Miranda sighed, finding the memory of the single longest span of time they'd spent together rather appealing, in spite of the concurrent reminder of how much of it she'd wasted.

"Is your mission going well?" she asked, "Solving problems and sowing goodwill across the galaxy?"

"Sure it is," Shepard replied good-naturedly, "I'm _very_ good at this sort of thing, you know."

"I know," Miranda said softly, smiling for what felt like the first time in days.

* * *

"So, this is our new Armax Arena…" Jack whistled, doing a quick circuit around the empty chamber.

Miranda crossed her arms, "It's not an Armax Arena, it's an Alliance training simulator— more along the lines of what they have at Pinnacle Station. It should allow our students to undergo targeted training regimes and experience combat scenarios without being placed in any real dang-"

"Bet I could still kick your ass," Jack interrupted.

Miranda rolled her eyes.

"Come on princess, how long has it been since you've used your biotics for anything besides stirring tea?" Jack persisted, "At least I got fifty little shits to keep in line..."

"Oh, right. I'm sure playing around with _children_ has kept you in top shape," Miranda scoffed.

Jack turned to her with a grin, already glowing blue, "Prove that it hasn't."

With another roll of her eyes, Miranda turned and began to walk back towards the exit. For a moment, Jack wondered if she was actually going to leave, but Miranda halted just short of the door, inputting a series of commands into the panel that appeared next to it.

"The simulator is now secured," the VI announced, "Running custom texture 347.5."

Points of light flickered around the walls, then settled into the appearance of the CIC from the SR-2.

Jack's grin curled into a smirk. "Oh hell yeah," she exclaimed, "This is better than old fucking times!"

* * *

 _ML: So, I hear you're dating Liara_

 _JS: Hello to you too. Yes, word is that we were bonded in a secret ceremony on Omega_

 _ML: Ugh, Omega? Now I know why I didn't attend. I hate to say this now, but you could have done better_

 _JS: I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you're referring to the location, Miss Lawson…_

 _JS: Just where did you hear these disingenuous assertions anyway?_

 _ML: [Forwarding: "Shepard and T'soni: Embracing Eternity or Just Embracing?" ANN Extranet Edition]_

 _ML: [Forwarding: "Reader Poll: What would an asari Shepard mean for humanity?" Westerlund News]_

 _ML: [Forwarding: "From Consorts to Clones: Shepard's Thessian Obsession and Why Blue Looks so Good on the Alliance Admiral." Serrice Post-Intelligencer]_

 _JS: Somebody needs to punch these people…_

 _ML: Hold on_

 _ML: [Forwarding: "Matriarch Aethyta Decks Reporter to Avoid Revealing Wedding Secrets." Extra Extranet]_

 _JS: …_

 _JS: One hug. Liara hugs me_ _once_ _when I arrive on Thessia, our first time seeing each other since ground zero in London, and suddenly it's the biggest headline in the galaxy._

 _ML: I must admit, the coverage was exhaustive. They were doing a frame-by-frame analysis just to be sure her eyes never darkened. Even trotted out some expert on asari scalp crest coloration._

 _JS: What did the expert say?_

 _ML: Inconclusive. But then, T'soni doesn't exactly wear her heart on her scalp these days_

 _JS: This whole thing is just ridiculous. People wouldn't be insinuating these things if it was Garrus that hugged me, or Tali._

 _ML: Oh, I don't know. There was talk after that little display of affection from Alenko at the gala as well._

 _JS: That…was probably justified._

* * *

"Admiral, at last you are here."

Shepard turned from her coffee, a broad smile on her face, "Javik, I thought you might be around. Has Liara run out of questions for you yet?"

The smile faded as she caught sight of the asari's frown in her peripheral vision. Javik's face was likewise grim.

"What?" she asked, glancing back and forth between the two.

"I would like to make a request," the prothean said simply.

"Okay…" Shepard replied, setting down the mug and crossing her arms, "What's on your mind?"

"There is somewhere I must go. I require your ship to take me there."

"Don't worry, he doesn't intend on needing a ride back," Liara put in testily, the frown on her face deepening.

Shepard shot a glance at the usually soft-spoken asari. Gone were the days when the mere mention of the protheans could inspire expressions of raw fascination and puzzlement; her time as the Broker had set a certain resting inscrutability into her features. Right now those same features were lined with the aggravation that always seemed to be inspired by _this_ prothean in particular.

"I would not need to make such a request if the asari would assist me in booking passage or acquiring a ship of my own," Javik rejoined.

Liara scoffed, "You can't just book a shuttle into unexplored space!"

" _You_ could," he insisted, "You simply do not wish to!"

"That's right, I don't," she shot to her feet, arms rigid at her side, hands balled into fists, "I won't help you kill yourself!"

"What I do is none of your concern, asari," Javik hissed, taking a step towards her.

Liara shook her head incredulously, "Yes, where _did_ I get the idea that I had the right to make my opinion known when I felt someone was acting foolish? Where in the goddess' name did I get that idea?"

He returned her glare, but Liara didn't flinch, in spite of the fact that she only had half as many glowering eyes to turn in his direction.

At last he scoffed, deliberately turning away. "Your goddess was a prothean," he muttered, crossing his arms scornfully.

Liara opened her mouth to reply, but the sound of Shepard noisily pushing up out of the seat silenced her.

"That's enough, both of you," she said, expression unreadable, "Javik, go do whatever you need to do to get ready. The Normandy is docked in Bay 77. I'll expect you within the next solar hour."

"Thank you, Admiral," Javik intoned, stiffly departing.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Liara's face morph into shock and horror.

"Shepard, how can you-"

"He needs this, Liara."

Liara stared. Then she abruptly turned, marching out of the room as well, leaving Shepard alone with her thoughts.

* * *

"The Cronian Nebula... even it does not remember."

Javik withdrew his hand and stood, surveying the landscape before them. The planet was lush with vegetation, but apparently devoid of sentient habitation, let alone evidence of the ancient war which had ravaged it.

"But you think this was the place?" Shepard asked, the comm adding a grainy quality to her voice.

"I know it," he replied firmly, "The shard remembers, even if this planet does not."

Shepard nodded, turning to gaze out at the skyline as well. Her hardsuit was already analyzing, sending everything from atmospheric data to soil composition analyses back to the Normandy. This _was_ an exploratory expedition after all, officially at least.

Fortunately, the Alliance Engineering Corps had been more than willing to back the mission, especially given their cordial relationship with the admiral who had always been willing to pause en route to firefights to clear out a thresher maw nest or survey a mineral deposit. The only information Traynor had been able to dig up was an outdated report by a Salarian survey team warning that the planet's apparently lush ecosystem should not be construed as evidence of friendliness towards visiting life forms.

Protheans excepted, apparently. As usual, Javik wore no breather, no suit aside from his usual armor. Liara had speculated that this apparent invulnerability was a matter of hidden tech, along with a possible biotic element. Whenever she asked, he would chuckle darkly and suggest that perhaps it was simply the manifest fitness of protheans to rule every corner of the galaxy. The conversation generally never recovered from that point.

"What now, Javik?" Shepard said, turning to him at last.

"If you were a prothean, we would touch and instantly know one another's minds," he replied, crossing his arms, "As it is, I will say what I must, and you will say what you must, and it will serve."

Shepard nodded, "I appreciate that. Never was very good at that whole experiential exchange thing."

"I find purely oral communication similarly difficult."

"I was just noticing that back on Thessia..."

His brow furrowed, "The asari has been more vexing than usual of late."

"Sounds like the prothean has too," Shepard replied, "Maybe if you would actually talk to her instead of falling back on the old disdainful-imperial act… Heck, Javik, I thought you guys were past that."

He shook his head, "She brings out old habits in me."

Shepard shrugged, "She cares about you. More and more of us do these days."

Javik scoffed.

"She cannot accept that I would deprive her of her precious specimen. Or perhaps she wishes I would die nearer at hand, that she might dissect me," he muttered darkly.

"I _know_ you're past that," she scolded, her tone clearly conveying the frown her helmet obscured.

He was staring at the ground, "She cannot understand."

"But you think I can."

They were silent a moment.

"Fifty-thousand years and the legacy of trillions is a heavy burden," Javik said at last, "I feel weary, Admiral. I feel weary, and triumphant, and ruined. I feel...finished."

He produced an ornamental cylinder, apparently made of the same material as his armor. Even without touching it she knew it sheathed a blade, could feel the memories radiating off it. A proud commander. A loyal crew. An impossible mission. And a nightmare ending that had often kept her from nightmares of the other sort as she lay awake, staring up at the ceiling of her cabin. She shuddered, and glanced away.

"If there is another living soul in this galaxy who understands my heart, it is you," Javik went on, "You have seen the prothean mind. You have borne the echo shard. You have spent two lives on bloodshed and war. Can you honestly say you have never longed for rest?"

She swallowed, staring once again out on the Cronian vista.

"I thought about it once," she admitted, "It was right after I joined up with Cerberus. I was back on the Normandy, except it was all different. I couldn't sleep. My body didn't feel right. Every day was sharp pain or dull numbness."

She winced, recalling the sensation of wrongness in her own skin.

"Then right in the middle of our night cycle I get a message from Hackett of all people with the coordinates of the SR-1 crash site. Didn't tell anyone, just took the shuttle and went. I got all the dog tags like he asked, but I couldn't leave. Just sat there in the middle of the wreck, with all the mangled pieces and all the ghosts."

She sighed, "I thought about ending it there. Wondered if Alchera wasn't the place I was meant to rest. I was only asleep for two years but _everything_ was different. I didn't know who these people were or whether I wanted to fight for them. In some ways dying there seemed so natural, like the perfect end to the story..."

Javik had turned to her, all four eyes watching her intently.

"Thing is," she continued, "when you stick around, sometimes you start to see the bigger picture. I figured out the whole Saren thing wasn't the end, not nearly. It was just a part of another story—a story I'd never have seen if I'd finished things off on Alchera."

His brow ridge raised incredulously, "I am standing here, staring back over fifty-thousand years, and you are telling me to look at the bigger picture?"

Once again, the abashed smile that spread across her face was evident only in her tone. "Maybe," she said, "I'm saying you'd better at least figure out if you can— I think you owe us that much"

He realized she was holding something out to him, a familiar black object bisected by a glowing teal line, and he held out his hand to accept it, already feeling the weight of all it had absorbed since their parting. Looking down, he wordlessly regarded them, the echo shard in one hand, his sanguine blade in the other.

After a moment of silence, he spoke, "In my cycle, we thought galactic history was the story of prothean ascension. The leviathan creatures believed the same. Now, even the reapers have a beginning, and an end."

She nodded, "And it's not over yet."

Javik set his teeth. "Sometimes at the conclusion of one story you wonder if it is worth getting out of your stasis pod to start again," he muttered grumpily.

"And sometimes you wake up in a new world, open your eyes, and there's someone to live for right there in front of you..."

Javik turned. Her gaze was distant, her tone fond.

"Not that you know it for a few months," she muttered, crossing her arms, "Or weeks, depending on when you count from. It's definitely a few days at least..."

He snorted, recalling his own chaotic awakening.

"She thought she knew everything about me," he remarked.

Shepard nodded, "So did mine."

"You should keep the echo shard. Show it a galaxy at peace once more," he insisted, handing it back to her. She nodded and accepted it, feeling this moment drawn into it even as they spoke.

Then he fell to his knees, taking hold of either end of the cylinder, perhaps considering whether he wished to look upon its blade again. In the end, he decided against it, raising a small mound of earth with his biotics and gently setting the artifact inside. With his own hand, he smoothed the dirt back over it, massaging the soil into uniformness, leaving the spot practically unrecognizable.

Stiffly, he rose back to his full height.

"We are the same," he nodded, "but can warriors like us truly learn to live in times of peace?"

"I think there's still going to be fights," Shepard replied, gaze hardening.

Javik's eyes narrowed, and he turned his indomitable gaze upon the galaxy as his fledgling people had done so many tens of thousands of years before.

"Then let them come," he vowed, "We who have seen the dying breath of the reapers… we shall never know fear again."

It was morning when they docked back on Thessia, Joker grumbling about having given up docking bay 77 for the far less desirable docking bay 31.

"Welcome back, Admiral. Welcome back esteemed galactic ancestor," Glyph chirped upon their arrival.

"I taught him to say that," Javik whispered, earning an impressed nod from Shepard.

Just then, Liara appeared in the doorway, staring at them in disbelief.

"I will never grow weary of defying your expectations, Dr. T'soni," Javik smirked, sounding exceptionally pleased with himself.

Without another word, she strode across the room, his eyes widening in shock as she pulled him into a fierce hug.

Shepard just shook her head, gesturing for Glyph to follow as she headed into the next room, the only one of the three of them that was not remotely surprised.

* * *

"Well, well, if it isn't Jacob Taylor. It's been a while."

"Too long," the man replied, embracing Miranda warmly. Oriana couldn't help thinking it was the happiest she'd seen her sister around _anyone_ , with the obvious exceptions of Shepard and herself.

And that was all the more reason that the timing of the visit couldn't have been better. Oriana doubted many others around the academy had noticed her sister's recent malaise, but the long hours Miranda worked and the preoccupied frowns she directed into her mug of tea when she thought no one was watching were not lost on those who really knew her.

Even Jack had come to a sudden halt in front of her desk the other day to ask what the hell was eating her, which had _really_ put Miranda in a bad mood. Oriana's suspicions were confirmed when a brief note from James arrived several days after he'd sent it explaining that the Normandy would be cruising with limited comms for a few weeks.

"Jacob, this is my sister Oriana. Oriana, Jacob served with me on the SR-2, but we were...colleagues even before then."

Oriana sighed inwardly, but she was so pleased by Miranda's change of mood that she conceded to allow her sister's annoying habit of making vague, sterilized references to her former life slide just this once. She shook the man's hand, and the three of them headed in the direction of the cafeteria.

"We would have been happy to meet you somewhere on Elysium," Miranda said when they sat down with their trays, "It isn't as if they keep us locked up here."

"Nah, I wanted to have a look around this place anyway. See what all the fuss is about," Jacob replied, "Who knows? Maybe my little Jane will even end up here someday. Make a military family out of us."

"Jane?" Miranda adopted an amused expression, "Jacob, you folded."

"Yeah, yeah, I don't wanna hear about it," he replied, crossing his arms, "Jane was a compromise, okay? Don't even remember it's Shepard's name most of the time..."

"Well, she'd certainly approve of that sentiment. So does this mean you're back with the Alliance permanently now?" Miranda asked.

"Yeah, I guess right towards the end of the war Shepard managed to shove my old record under somebody's nose. They made me an offer I couldn't refuse— a permanent posting at a training facility back on Earth. Best part is it's a stationary post, so I get to come home to both my girls every night."

"Can't imagine why you'd want that," Miranda remarked, only slightly bitterly.

Jacob laughed, "That's right, every time I see Shepard she's in a different system. The vids are really eating it up. Whatever Alliance PR rep dreamed up that scheme is gonna live a long and happy life."

"That's assuming Miranda never finds them," Oriana couldn't help but add, earning another laugh from Jacob and no disagreement from her sister.

"Jacob, have you and Brynn set a date yet?" Miranda asked, "I was expecting to have seen an invitation by now."

"We're working on it. My original plan to pop the question kinda fell through when Shepard turned my romantic spot on the presidium into part of a super-weapon. I settled for Tokyo instead. Turns out they still have a cherry blossom or two around there as well."

Activating his omni-tool, Jacob pulled up a holo of himself hugging a very pregnant Brynn, the two of them framed by a curtain of delicate pink blossoms.

"How lovely," Oriana sighed, "Miri, why don't you have any pictures like this of you and Shepard?"

Miranda blinked, then furrowed her brow, activating her omni-tool and digging around a moment.

"Come on, Oriana, clearly they're in love," Jacob teased, "Can't you tell by the way she doesn't have a single picture of her?"

"I have pictures of Shepard," Miranda insisted, "I mean, you can easily find hundreds of them on the extranet."

"Not pictures of Shepard, pictures you both. Didn't the two of you ever do anything together that wasn't classified?" Oriana pressed.

Miranda paused to think about it, then went back to searching her omni-tool.

"Alright, alright, I'll put you out of your misery," Jacob said, accessing a different file. His omni-tool projected an image of a large group of people, and sure enough Shepard and Miranda were sitting front and center, legs crossed, gazes locked.

"Well I've got a copy of _that_ somewhere," Miranda said.

"Oh my goodness, look at this! It's the whole crew," Oriana leaned in to get a better look, "This must be from when you all met up on the Citadel. There's Jack, wearing the same outfit she does for class. Come to think of it, don't any of you own casual clothing? This is a party, right? Did the translators glitch on the idiom 'dressed to kill'?"

"To be fair, wearing armor is apparently pretty standard at Krogan parties, and for good reason from the sound of it," Jacob put in, "Garrus and Zaeed probably needed their armor with what they were getting up to. And as for the prothean… well, I'm not totally sure if he can take that off…"

"Besides, I'm not wearing combat gear," Miranda defended, "Neither is Jacob."

"No, it looks like the two of you attended the party in your old Cerberus uniforms," Oriana remarked dryly, "Oh, but look at that smile on Steve- I'd kill to be that photogenic…and there's James in the background saluting like a complete dork. Jacob, you have to send me a copy of this!"

Miranda sighed, "Satisfied?"

"For the moment, I suppose," Oriana conceded, "Though it still isn't exactly what I had in mind. You know, back at my old school there was always a chaperone at the dances to make sure everyone stayed at least one omni-tool length apart and he certainly couldn't find fault with anyone here. And besides, you and Shepard are giving each other a funny look."

"Shepard was making a face and I reacted! It's not my fault the picture had to be taken at that _exact_ moment."

"And there's the proof right there," Jacob interjected, deactivating his omni-tool after flicking a copy of the holo in Oriana's direction, "People talk about Shepard like she's some kind of legend, and they usually don't dare talk about Miranda at all. But watching those two fall for each other helped bring them down to Earth. Pretty hard not to see them as human when they've got those goofy grins on their faces."

"I guess so," Oriana mused, shooting her sister a smug look.

Miranda just rolled her eyes and returned to her lunch, looking for all the world like someone incapable of making the expression from the photograph.

Eventually Jacob's shuttle returned, and he departed with the promise that next time he'd come with Brynn and little Jane in tow.

When Miranda arrived at her desk the next morning there was a framed copy of the photo waiting for her.

 _If you must stare at something, stare at this,_ the omni-tag from her sister read.

Shaking her head, she sat down and settled in for a long day. Hours later, when all of her colleagues had come and gone Miranda remained, filing a few last reports as it seemed it was her lot in life to do. The sudden chirp of her omni-tool broke the silence, and she jumped on it, frowning when she saw that it was just an automated reminder about password security.

With a heavy sigh, she reached for her tea. The mug was cold to the touch, and when she brought it to her lips, the taste was bitter. Setting it aside, she found her eyes drawn to the framed photograph instead. She drew it closer, glancing across each of the faces in turn. A preoccupied smile slipped onto her face.

Then she set it back down, pulled up her report, and got back to work, her expression all business once more.

* * *

The time it took the massive doors leading from the landing pad to activate gave Shepard a few seconds to wonder. Then they swung open, and a mass of muscles and scales tackled her, removing all doubt.

"Alright you overexcited pyjack, that's enough," Wrex grumbled, dragging the varren off her with ease, "I knew it was gonna be either him or Grunt…"

Shepard took his offered hand, and he pulled her to her feet with about as much exertion as he'd expended yanking off the varren.

"Welcome back, Shepard," he said, giving her hand a firm squeeze before releasing it.

"Shepard!" Grunt bellowed, giving her upper-arm a resounding slap before cracking their foreheads together. Let no one ever say she left Tuchanka without a warm feeling in her stomach, and a fresh set of bruises all across her body.

"Grunt. Wrex. How's everything going on Tuchanka? I notice I can land my ship here these days, and not just my shuttle," Shepard remarked, following the two back towards Wrex's throne with Urz loping after them.

"Yeah, things are coming together," Wrex said, "Now that everyone's got kids, they all seem to want clean water, and houses with roofs, and landing pads. Guess we aren't so different from the rest of the galaxy now, eh?"

"Only if you mean that the rest of the galaxy looks as bad as Tuchanka for once," Grunt added, with the usual chuckle for punctuation. He had just noticed the bun in her hair, and was prodding it with cautious interest.

Shepard shot him a grin, "By the way, I understand I have Clan Urdnot to thank for getting me out of the Citadel wreckage alive. Sounds like I wouldn't be here without you guys."

Wrex shrugged, "I sure as heck wouldn't be here without you, Shepard."

Grunt nodded, "It would have been a lousy death anyway."

"Hell of a job though, finding one little human in all that rubble," Wrex went on, "A shame this little pyjack wasn't there. He always seems to be able to find you in a heartbeat."

Shepard glanced down at Urz with a smile, giving his head an affectionate scratch.

"Is Bakara around?" she asked.

"She's still in the Kelphic Valley. I thought she'd want me there too, but she just says we both have work to do, and she'll let me know when I'm needed."

Shepard smiled knowingly, "I take it that means the war didn't put too much of a damper on the 'revitalization of the krogan' then?"

"Ha—war only makes us want to make _more_ babies!" Grunt declared, seemingly realizing mid-bellow what he'd said, and to whom.

"…the krogan I mean," he added with a cough, the hint of orange on his cheeks definitely having nothing to do with blood rage.

"Boy's right though," Wrex said with a chuckle, "Just call Tuchanka the beating heart of galactic love."

"Isn't Thessia already called the beating heart of galactic love?" Shepard asked with a raised brow.

"Well… no reason the galaxy shouldn't have a _redundant_ beating heart of galactic love," Wrex replied, shooting her a toothy grin.

"I'm not sure the asari would appreciate the implications of that remark," Shepard pointed out, "Especially coming from a Krogan."

"Don't worry, the asari and the krogan both have other priorities right now. I guess they're eager to build their numbers back up too," he said with a rumbling laugh.

"Besides, they don't have anything to worry about," he added, giving Shepard a significant look, "Or won't, just as soon as they give us a seat on the re-formed Council, that is."

Shepard laughed, and looked out once more over the much-changed landscape. She'd witnessed the way war made certain impossible things possible. Its aftermath too, it seemed.

"They're gonna need one hell of a seat," she said, turning to her old friend with a grin.

* * *

"Urdnot Urz?" Miranda raised a brow, "Don't tell me you took him on a rite of passage too. Any breeding request yet, for either of you?"

The image of Shepard flickered, and her rebuttal was lost in a burst of static.

"Oh come on," Miranda grumbled, trying again to see if she could clean up the connection from her end. The infrastructure on Tuchanka should have been coming along better than this by now…

"…if EDI was h…see if I can't get Sam to…" the audio crackled. Shepard rose and disappeared from view, returning with a familiar figure in tow.

These days, Specialist Traynor was occupying the once-XO office, once-Shadow Broker hub on the Normandy's crew deck. She'd been charged with preparing an overarching report on galactic communication systems for the Alliance over the course of their tour, as well as coordinating a number of smaller projects.

Given the reputation she'd built up during the war she could have had her pick of assignments, but the promise of serving under Shepard _and_ having her own private shower had been enough to pull her back onto the Normandy. Miranda envied her enormously.

"And there we go, that should do it," Traynor's smooth, Oxfordian accent came over the comm, clear as day. She gave Miranda a friendly thumbs-up.

"Hey, did you and James smooth things over yet about the XO office?" Shepard asked as she turned to go.

"Don't you mean the _Comm Specialist_ office?" Traynor chuckled, "Don't worry, it's all sorted. He very gallantly conceded to let me use it, then sent me a comm saying 'Revenge is a dish best served early'. Ever since then he's been waking me up with breakfast every morning at 5am. I mean the wall isn't exactly _thin_ , but the smell is too delicious to ignore."

"Come to think of it, I'm not entirely sure he knows what revenge means…" she added thoughtfully, stepping off-screen.

"We still on for chess tonight?" Shepard called after her.

"Only if you bring a bottle of wine. You're _much_ better after your second glass," she heard Traynor reply.

God she envied that woman…

"Sorry about that," Shepard turned back to her, "Just sorting out the line of succession for your old office."

"By rights, shouldn't it go to James'?" Miranda raised a brow, "He _is_ your XO..."

"Yeah, Liara kind of bucked that trend… and Traynor really wanted the shower," Shepard explained, "Anyway, as I was saying, Urz follows me everywhere, the little guy's heartbroken whenever I leave."

"Oh, the varren misses you, does he?" Miranda intoned, crossing her arms.

Shepard's reply was interrupted by a voice that was definitely not coming over a comm.

"Thought I heard your voice, Shepard," Jack shouted from the doorway of Miranda's office.

Miranda winced inward, hoping the other woman would move along. Didn't she have class or something?

"Still alive out there?" Jack hollered.

 _Nope_ , a voice in her head provided sarcastically, _no class whatsoever._

"That you, Jack?" Shepard replied, "You got a second?"

Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose.

Jack sauntered into her office, leaning down into the picture with absolutely no regard for Miranda's personal space, "Hey Shepard, how's that old shithole Tuchanka?"

"Better than ever, actually," Shepard replied, "Hey, what's it like taking care of Eezo? It's not any harder than having a dog is it?"

Jack glanced over at Miranda, then understanding dawned on her face in the form of a wicked smile.

"Shit, varren are _easy_ to take care of," she pronounced, "no fur to shed-"

"They have scales," Miranda retorted.

"You can feed 'em literally anything _-_ "

"They have a preference for _live prey_."

"Plus, they can disarticulate their jaws to swallow things whole."

"I-" Miranda blinked, turning to Jack with a raised brow, "Is that supposed to be a selling point?"

"Come on, Miranda, look at this face," Shepard heaved Urz up where they could see him, earning an affectionate lick from the confused but otherwise genial varren, "He's just an old fighter, trying to make his way in a peaceful world…"

"Oh for fuck's sake, not this shit again," Jack groaned, "Shepard, not everyone's varren has to be a mirror into their fucking soul!"

Before they could launch off on that tangent, Miranda raised a hand to silence them both.

"Alright Shepard, I'll make you a deal," she said, looking at the other woman squarely, "The varren can come back to stay when you do."

There was silence on the comm, then Shepard smiled.

"It's a deal, Miss Lawson," she replied solemnly.

Once the comm had been disconnected, Miranda leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.

"You know you're definitely gonna regret that, right?" Jack pointed out, giving her a look.

"Of course I do," she replied, rubbing her eyes, "If I'm lucky, Kahlee will draw the line at _one_ varren."

Jack shrugged, heading back towards the door, "I dunno, Shepard can be pretty convincing when she wants to be."

"Tell me something I don't know," Miranda grumbled, setting back to her work and vowing to use the private comm in her room exclusively from then on.

* * *

 _JS: So, we should probably try to find a way to clear up all this ambiguity surrounding my relationship status_

 _ML: ..._

 _JS: It was just supposed to be a little joke! After the whole big to-do about Liara, Garrus thought it would be funny to hug me when I showed up on Palaven_

 _ML: "JS: People wouldn't be insinuating these things if it was Garrus that hugged me, or Tali"_

 _JS: Okay, so I was wrong_

 _JS: Shockingly, incredibly, unbelievably wrong_

 _JS: Still dead-on with my Widow though…_

* * *

Let no one say they weren't patient.

Shepard was back for one night, passing through like a comet, and of course her evening was spoken for from the moment the shuttle touched down. The itinerary included a tour of the facilities and various photo-ops. Once the press had departed for the night they'd eaten dinner with Kahlee, dropped in on David Archer, and listened to Oriana gush about her latest project, though only _after_ asking after Major Vega. Miranda had practically thrown Shepard over her shoulder and marched off then and there when she agreed to a nightcap with Jack.

The patience, it seemed, ended right inside the threshold of Miranda's apartment. The doors closed behind them and they were on each other before Shepard's bag hit the floor, then everything was tangling and grasping and _heat_. There wasn't even time to tease Miranda for the efficiency with which she had Shepard's uniform on the floor, and her bare back against the bed.

The beep shocked them apart, the orange glow of Miranda's omni-tool alighting on bare skin. It was Jack.

"Don't answer it."

"I have to."

Miranda gave Shepard an apologetic look, but it was late, and it was _Jack_. She sucked in a steadying breath.

"What is it, Jack?"

Shepard was almost insulted by how unruffled she managed to sound.

"Some of the boys got caught trying to sneak into the girl's dorms. Heading over myself but the boss lady wants you there too for some reason."

For some _reason_ is probably exactly why, Miranda thought dryly.

"I'll be right there."

They heard the raspy sound of Jack snickering over the comm, "Sorry Shepa-"

Miranda cut the link.

"Oh, I am gonna kill-"

Miranda pressed a finger to her lips, halting her rise, "Shepard, please. You're naked. I'll handle this."

She replaced her finger with a kiss, then pushed off the bed, rapidly putting herself back in order before heading for the door.

"Little bastards," Shepard was grumbling, "Trying to get laid when I'm trying to get laid…"

"I'll be back soon," Miranda said, sparing a backwards glance and a promising smile for the very petulant, very naked Admiral Shepard.

She only just caught the sound of the other woman's dramatic flop back onto the bed as the doors swished closed behind her.

* * *

Come morning, the press was back, eager to catch a few last-minute shots. The entire staff was lined up, and Shepard went down the row one-by-one, shaking hands and exchanging a few words with each.

"Heh, didn't expect to see you down here at the end of the line with the commoners, princess," Jack remarked, "Late start this morning?"

Miranda resisted the urge to roll her eyes or cross her arms, and bit back the retort on her tongue. There were cameras everywhere.

"I mean, shit, I get it," Jack went on, clearly unconcerned by the scrutiny, "I said it myself, Shepard's convincing as hell. She managed to convince the quarians to make peace with the geth, and _that_ was without tongue…"

Shepard was nearly to them. Miranda wondered if she was successfully playing off the scowl on her face as a serious expression…

Jack smirked, "… _probably_."

…probably not.

"So here's my question…"

 _Christ, was Jack seriously still talking?!_

"…you gonna give her a hug too? Or just let these assholes keep financing their vacation homes with headlines about all the aliens Shepard's banging?"

Shepard was shaking the hand of the man on her other side, that warm, amiable smile she reserved for complete strangers on her face.

"Eh, who am I kidding?" Jack muttered, "This is what happens when you have a relationship where no one has any fucking bal-"

Finally it was her turn. Miranda took a decisive step forward, pulling Shepard into an equally decisive kiss, which the admiral gladly returned as soon as she got over her shock.

"I thought you wanted to keep this low-key?" Shepard said as they drew apart, a chorus of surprised exclamations all around them.

"You wanted to clear up your relationship status," Miranda pointed out, "Besides, I've never been one for ambiguity. It really just comes down to sloppiness, wouldn't you say?"

Miranda gave her hands a squeeze, then stepped back into line, pleased by the rather different smile that was now adorning Shepard's face.

Moving along as if nothing unusual had happened, Shepard scooted over to Jack.

"You have no idea how tempted I am to knock that smug grin right off your face," Jack warned, "So why don't you just hurry up and shake my damn hand, Admiral."

As Shepard headed back towards the shuttle, her omni-tool beeped. It was a message from Liara.

 _Please tell me you don't expect me to do damage control on this…_

Shepard grinned, shooting off a quick response.

 _No thanks._

* * *

Miranda rolled over, her drowsy consciousness asserting that there was no way it was morning yet.

But the beep of her omni-tool was persistent, and when she saw who the call was coming from, she answered it without hesitation.

"Shepard," she greeted, stifling a yawn, "What are you doing calling at this hour? Isn't Normandy on the same night cycle we are?"

"Yeah, sorry to wake you… just having a bit of a rough night."

Miranda blinked. The expression on Shepard's face woke her right up.

"Why? What's on your mind?" she asked.

"Guess I've been to too many memorials this week…" Shepard's chuckle was pained, and she abruptly pushed up and out of her chair.

"It gets you thinking, you know," she went on, snatches of her moving in and out of view as she paced anxiously across the room, "All the second chances I got, and all these people that didn't-"

"Stop," Miranda sat up, "Shepard, stop. Look at me, damnit!"

She waited in silence until Shepard was back at her desk, gazing at the screen with hollow eyes.

"You and I both know there's no place here for survivor's guilt," Miranda began gently, "Yes, you had your share of chances, a death that was and _many_ that should have been, but no one gave more of themselves to that war than you."

Shepard rubbed her face in agitation, "They gave their futures…"

"They did. So that the people they cared about could have one," Miranda replied firmly.

For a moment Shepard was silent, her once-vacant gaze suddenly distant, leaving Miranda uncertain if she was making progress or not.

"What would you have done if I hadn't made it back?"

Shepard's tone was dull. Miranda closed her eyes tightly, then slowly forced them open again.

"I would have done anything to get to you," she intoned, "I brought you back once and I'd have moved heaven and earth for the chance to do it again."

"And failing that?"

She swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat, "I would live, Shepard. It's all any of us left can do. Life is the only thing that gives death any meaning."

Shepard had fallen silent again, and the emptiness and the distance in her gaze were gone, replaced by an exhaustion that seemed bottomless. All Miranda could do for her now was lead the broken soldier back to bed and let the security of her arms and the closeness of her body do their work. Except she couldn't.

"It will be better in the morning," she said, keenly aware of the vast divide between herself and Shepard, between a warm body and cold comfort.

"I know," Shepard replied, "Goodnight, Miranda."

"I love you, Shepard."

A smile cracked across her features, "Love you too."

The comm went dead. In the silence, Miranda fell back onto her bed, rubbing her eyes with her palms to dispel the afterimages of Shepard's holo. Her hands lingered there, covering her face. She lay that way for a long time, sleep eluding her as surely as it eluded the one who occupied her thoughts.

* * *

"Has the Council decided if they're sending you to Khar'shan?"

"Not yet," Shepard replied, voiced muffled by the hair-pin clenched between her teeth.

Miranda took a bite of her lunch, and waited. After a moment, Shepard glanced over at the comm.

"Look, I know how you feel about it, but there's nothing to do at this point but wait and see. The question may not come up at all."

"I would think it would be an easy decision," Miranda countered, "If _they_ won't set foot on Khar'shan themselves, why in god's name would they even consider sending you there?"

"What can I say, reconciliation is in these days," Shepard mused, resuming the process of pinning up her hair in what the news vids were calling the 'admiral bun'. A few strands resisted confinement, and Miranda resisted the impossible urge to sweep them back into place.

"They put a price on your head, Shepard. Not pirates, not terrorists, not separatists, but the actual batarian government. Two million credits, dead or alive. Incidentally, they never got around to officially rescinding that bounty…"

Shepard snorted, "Two million credits…the bounty on Jack was higher than that! Heck, you can make that kind of money throwing a gala."

She could feel Miranda's disapproval from seven star systems away.

"What did the Lazarus Project end up coming out to, anyway?"

Miranda raised a brow at the sudden digression, "No one ever told you?"

Shepard shrugged, "I saw a few numbers thrown out. I have a general idea. But I figure you and the Illusive Man were the only two who ever knew exactly, and _you_ certainly never told me."

"That's because it was classified information, and at the time, I was tasked with keeping it that way," Miranda said.

"What about now?"

"Now it would just be tacky," she replied summarily.

Shepard leaned down towards the comm, pointing at the ceremonial chain on her uniform, " _This_ is tacky. That might be kind of interesting."

Miranda sighed, resting her chin in her hand, "Suffice to say you're worth a lot more alive than you are dead."

"Well _I_ could've told you that," Shepard scoffed, "Do you know how much salvage I collected for Cerberus?"

"Yes."

Shepard grinned, "Of course you do."

"I still have my old reports backed up in a few places. One never knows when one might need leverage," Miranda remarked.

"Or memories," Shepard added.

"Or memories," she conceded.

* * *

Jack bit back a groan. She'd agreed to let Miranda write the warp exam, seeing as warp fields had always been more her thing, but this was ridiculous. The questions weren't about biotics, they were about physiology and physics and the bullshit Miranda insisted was called metaphysics (another princess vocab word). If she came across one more question with footnotes, she was going to make a classroom demonstration of warping the whole stack to smithereens and call it good.

"What factors determine how long unshielded organic particles maintain their integrity in a warp field?" she read aloud. Ensign Bei had written: _My power, and theirs._

Jack smirked, and marked it for full points.

Even with her generous grading, she had a feeling this one was going to hurt. About thirty minutes into the exam most of the students had looked ready to hit their heads on their desks, and Jack didn't blame them because she was about there herself.

"The curve on this thing's gonna be bigger than the one on your ass, princess," she muttered into the page.

"What was that, Jack?"

Her head whipped up, "Oh, uh… just… saying that this group is bigger than my class."

"That's because it's the entire cohort, of which your class is a part," Kahlee replied, brow raised with amusement.

"Yeah… right," Jack said lamely, "What are you doing here, anyway? Aren't you done for the day?"

"Just one more thing to sign off on, then I will be," she responded, holding up a datapad. Nodding, Jack turned back to the stack of warping exams before her, eager to be finished as well.

"Everything _does_ seem to be in order…"

Jack glanced back over. Kahlee was standing in the door to her office, muttering to herself and occasionally shaking her head at the text before her.

"Alright, tell me whose whining parents I need to pummel."

Kahlee glanced back up with a chuckle, "Nothing like that. I'm just reviewing this licensing paperwork Miranda sent over. The company already has a number of Alliance contracts. Their production methods and materials sourcing seems sound."

Disappearing into her office for a moment, Kahlee emerged with a small object in her hands, tossing it over to Jack.

"So what's the problem?" Jack asked, turning the prototype over in her hands, grudgingly impressed by its weight and complexity.

"No problem. It's actually quite a favorable contract," Kahlee replied, eyes moving back to the datapad, "A portion of the proceeds to benefit the academy in perpetuity, an exclusive edition to sell in our shop… Frankly, it's nothing less than I'd expect, given Miranda's negotiation skills."

"Oh, I get it," Jack grinned, and Kahlee glanced up at her over the datapad.

" _You're_ trying to figure out her angle. Can't figure why Miranda Lawson took it upon herself to draw this up and get it to your desk."

Kahlee smiled sheepishly, "Something like that. I know she's trying to diversify our revenue stream, but this does seem like a strange addition to the portfolio."

"Let's just say she might have a personal interest in making this happen."

Kahlee blinked, "I didn't realize Miranda collected model ships."

"She doesn't," Jack replied, "But Christmas is coming and Shepard's like a red sand addict around these things.

"Ah."

Jack nodded, handing over the prototype and returning to her exams with a shake of her head.

Kahlee, for her part, looked over the contract once more with new understanding, a small smile spreading across her face. She added her signoff with a flourish, heading into her office to file it appropriately.

Jack, meanwhile, let her eyes wander from the exam once more.

"A one-of-a-kind prototype of an as yet unavailable, limited-edition model ship…" she murmured to herself, "That clever bitch…"

"What was that, Jack?" Kahlee poked her head out of her office.

"Er…nothing," Jack turned to her with a thoughtful look, "Hey, how much do you think it would cost to ship a live varren off Tuchanka?"

* * *

 _Connection timed out. Destination comm channel unavailable._

"Damnit," Miranda hissed, drumming her nails on the desk.

She briefly considered forgetting the whole thing, but her ears were burning with Shepard's enjoinder not to go it alone. After a moment's hesitation, she settled for typing out a hasty message, dispatching it to Shepard's omni-tool before she could reconsider again.

 _Call as soon as you can. We need to talk_.


	9. A Familiar Shade of Blue

As the shuttle pulled in, Shepard reflected that she hadn't seen Grissom's hangar bay deserted like this since the big rescue. She activated her credit chit, making some perfunctory comment about the holiday season as she shot the driver an unusually sizable tip. He was no Cortez to be sure, but he had gone out of his way to get her up to Grissom when there were plenty of fares to be had planetside. With a parting wave, he went on his way.

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she made for the decontamination room, footsteps echoing in the silence. The corridors too were eerily empty, and she had to shake the expectation that white-clad figures might be lurking just beyond the next corner.

"Hey."

The look of shock that single syllable elicited made all the subterfuge worthwhile. Shepard was disappointed but unsurprised that her intuition to look for Miranda in her office rather than the apartment had been correct, despite the fact that they were now deep into Grissom's night cycle and the administrative wing was otherwise deserted.

"Where is everyone?" she said, setting down her bag, "I know it's late, but this place is dead."

"They're all on break," Miranda pushed up out of her chair, "Shepard, what are you doing here?"

"Consider me officially on break as well," she replied with a grin, coming around the desk to slip her arms around the other woman from behind.

"But how?" Miranda turned to catch her eye, "It was starting to sound like I'd be lucky to see you on Christmas Day."

Shepard chuckled, resting her chin on Miranda's shoulder, "You know, all I had to do was feed them some line about spending the holidays with loved ones. Can you believe they fell for that one?"

She placed a kiss on the corner of Miranda's jaw, adding, "Is everything okay?"

"Yes," Miranda replied automatically, "of course it is."

There was a moment's pause.

"Okay…" Shepard placed a second kiss just south of the first, this one slightly more tentative, "Thing is, halfway to the Petra Nebula I got this vague, unsettling message…"

Miranda stiffened, taking a half-step forward, "I... wasn't prepared for you to be here in person."

"Uh…sorry? I guess?" Shepard's brow knitted, "What's going on?"

Miranda didn't turn, didn't reply. Shepard caught the slight shift of her shoulders as she took a breath, the faint whoosh as she let it out.

Then without another word, she headed through an open doorway in the back of her office, gesturing for the other woman to follow her into what appeared to be a small conference room. It had a round table, with chairs and a comm station and, though Shepard felt unqualified to say she was absolutely sure, something that looked an awful lot like a crib.

"Is that…" she trailed off, feeling a bit dumb.

"It is."

She waited, assuming Miranda would have more to add. When nothing was forthcoming, she stepped up beside the other woman and looked down at the tiny sleeping form inside.

"Wow," Shepard tried to think of something to say, at least in the hope of inspiring more than a grudging word from her companion, "Grissom's taking them young these days."

She winced. Oh, that was lame. Not that it mattered, since Miranda didn't seem to have heard. She was gazing down, a grimmer expression on her face than it seemed this sleeping child should have been able to evoke.

"This is Henry Lawson," she said at last. Shepard started, glancing sharply up at her then back at the child.

Sure enough, his head was ringed by a halo of familiar dark hair.

"Henry Lawson?" Shepard repeated cautiously, "Is he… like you and Oriana?"

"No, not a legacy," Miranda shook her head, "He was an insurance policy. Cerberus invested in a clone to provide organs and tissues for you should the need arise. It seems the war had my father thinking along the same lines."

"So he's genetically identical to your father," Shepard surmised, "but not… engineered."

"From what I've been able to gather, he's had minimal enhancements, mainly for robust physical health. Aside from that, it seems he's a normal child," Miranda explained, "Or as normal as someone sharing my father's genetic makeup can be."

Shepard sighed, gently slipping an arm around Miranda's waist and pulling her closer, "So how did this little guy come into your possession?"

Miranda rested her head on the provided shoulder, "Officially, the Alliance seized my father's assets even before the war ended, but they're only now getting around to assessing exactly what those holdings entail."

"One of their lawyers contacted me," she went on, "Ori was never on-record as his daughter, making me his only living relative. Of course he'd long since written me out of every legal document he could get his hands on, but as you can probably guess, the Alliance wasn't terribly interested in his preferences."

Shepard raised a brow, "Not to be blunt, but I wouldn't think they'd be terribly interested in yours either."

"They weren't," Miranda replied with a tight smile, "They made it clear from the start that I would have zero claim to anything of value."

"Not that I mind," she added, "I wouldn't have taken so much as a credit of that man's money."

"But there's not much the Alliance can do with a kid," Shepard concluded.

"Exactly. In the eyes of the law, 'clone' is just a legally dubious flavor of 'dependent'. As his next-of-kin, I have ninety days to accept guardianship or surrender him for adoption. I agreed to foster him in the meantime."

Shepard's brow shot up, "And they handed him over just like that?"

"There are still so many children left over from the war," Miranda shook her head incredulously, "In a little over an hour they did a background check, verified my financial means, and decided I was fit to have a child."

Shepard's arm pulled tighter around her waist, "Well, you're certainly fit to have a child. Knowing you, you knew everything anyone ever wrote about it on the extranet by the next morning."

"I know enough to know how little I know," Miranda replied ruefully, "You can't learn how to raise a child on the extranet."

"I'm willing to hazard a guess that you gave it a damn good try anyway."

The weary smile that settled on Miranda's features was all the confirmation she needed.

Shepard felt her gaze drawn back to the occupant of the crib, to the infant Miranda had called Henry Lawson.

"So now you're stuck with two unexpected guests," she sighed, "That's one hell of a Merry Christmas."

Miranda scoffed halfheartedly, "At least _he_ was good enough to send his lawyer ahead of him."

"Well then, I guess the kid does take after your father."

Miranda was silent, biting her lip thoughtfully.

"I tried to call," she offered at last, "In the name of not doing everything on my own."

"There's a ping I'm kicking myself for not responding to— see if I ever miss a call from you again," Shepard laughed through a grimace, before adding, "This would have been a heck of a thing to handle on your own, Miss Lawson."

When Miranda didn't reply she glanced over, seeing that the other woman's eyes had fallen shut.

"Anyway, I think you two have the right idea. It's time for sleep. We'll talk more about this tomorrow," she pronounced.

Miranda sighed, muttering something vaguely agreeable without opening her eyes or shifting.

"What? You're going to sleep right here, on my shoulder?"

Miranda nodded.

"No you're not. Come on."

Relinquishing her companion for a moment, Shepard reached down to carefully lift the sleeping child out of the crib. His eyes slipped open, such a strikingly familiar shade of stormy blue.

"Kid's light," she chuckled, holding him gingerly, "I think I have guns that weigh more than he does."

"That's hardly because he's light," Miranda remarked.

Shepard grinned, then frowned as she turned back to him, "I don't think he likes me. His lower lip's all trembly all of a sudden."

"He's shy and undersocialized, probably understimulated in general," Miranda replied, gently taking the child into her arms.

"Oh, well I can work with _that_. Half my crew came in that way."

They exchanged glances, and Miranda shook her head, heading back into the office without another word.

"I didn't say I was talking about you," Shepard called, following, "But I'm proud of you for being self-aware!"

Miranda paused in the next room to give Shepard a chance to collect her things.

"You'll need to grab his bag too," she said, stifling a yawn.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And the datapads on my desk."

"Not a chance."

By the time they made it out of the administrative wing, the station's night cycle emulators were hard at work imparting a twilit glow for the benefit of the empty benches and artificial trees.

"So everyone's really just gone for the holidays?" Shepard asked, glancing around the abandoned quad, "I can't believe it's this empty."

"Normally it isn't. Most of the students do go home for the holidays, but this year Kahlee and Jack organized a sightseeing trip to Earth for the rest," Miranda explained.

"Huh. That should be good for Jack," Shepard mused, "She's probably never seen Earth when it wasn't on fire."

Miranda shrugged, "Knowing her, she probably prefers it that way."

"Nah, I don't think she cares much for fires she doesn't start," Shepard chuckled, "What about Oriana?"

"Spending the holiday with her parents."

Shepard raised a brow, "And you didn't go along?"

"I _was_ invited," Miranda admitted, looking a bit guilty, "She wanted me to come along, but I wasn't going to just show up with a child. Even _she_ doesn't know about him. So I told her I was waiting to see if you'd get some leave."

"Oh great, make _me_ the bad guy."

Miranda shrugged, "It wasn't entirely untrue. I see Ori every day, but she hardly ever gets to spend time with her parents, and I hardly ever get to spend time with you."

"Just a private little Christmas for just the three of us then?" Shepard's expression was thoughtful, "That doesn't sound half bad..."

They had arrived at the apartment and Miranda turned back to her, "I should put him to bed."

"I'm going to grab a quick shower. Don't wait up for me."

Their foreheads bumped, fondness cutting through the lethargy.

"Oh _now_ you tell me not to wait up," Miranda murmured, "Why didn't you say that six months ago?"

Shepard's eyelids dipped low, "Maybe I was worried you'd listen."

"As if there was ever any danger of that."

Their lips met, a kiss like a sigh of relief, and Shepard's breath hitched at the sudden, fleeting sensation of Miranda's tongue.

"Don't be too long..."

Her gaze followed Miranda all the way out of sight.

* * *

"I thought I told you not to wait up."

Shepard appeared in the bedroom doorway, clumps of darkened hair flying as she vigorously scoured her head with a towel. Miranda's expression warned her against any plans she may or may not have had that involved pouncing…

"You should have brought my datapads," Miranda countered sulkily, arms bolted across her chest. She had traded her uniform for sleeping attire, and drooping eyelids for knitted brows. Giving her head one more vigorous toss before running a taming hand all the way through, Shepard headed back into the bathroom.

"I don't know if I can do this, Shepard," she heard from the other room.

"Do what?" she replied, poking her head back out to lob Miranda a toothbrush, "It's just Christmas. Just three people with nowhere else to be."

"I know, it's just… I thought I was rid of my father for good and now there's a little boy sleeping in the crib over there, his genetic twin, who's going to grow up to look _exactly_ like him…" Miranda dug a frustrated hand through her own hair, pushing up to follow Shepard into the bathroom, "And do you know what the worst part is?"

Shepard got to spend the full duration of the toothbrushing wondering.

Miranda spat out her toothpaste, "I resent him for it. For showing up just when I thought this was all over and done with. Just when I thought that part of my life was finally over."

"And I resent myself for resenting an innocent child," she added, still combing anxious fingers through her hair.

"Here, if you're going to pull someone's hair out, it may as well be mine," Shepard said, offering the brush.

Miranda wordlessly consented, moving back to the edge of the bed and patting the space beside her for Shepard to sit.

"Back to the old length," she remarked, running a tentative stroke through the still-damp locks.

"Yeah, Joker was getting pretty dramatic about it," Shepard replied, "He kept saying one day I was going to whip my helmet off too fast and take out one of his femurs."

"This in spite of the fact that you always kept it in that neat little bun?"

"A ticking time bomb, according to him," Shepard replied, smile quirked upward, "I have to admit, it is a bit of a pain. I'm not sure how you always keep yours looking so nice."

"Not wearing a helmet certainly helps," Miranda murmured.

Shepard inclined her head, conceding the point and faintly nuzzling Miranda's palm all at once, "Joker said he's going to auction off the part they cut for charity, or booze or something."

"Shepard, _please_ do not sell your hair."

"Huh?" Shepard glanced back to her, "Why not?"

"Genetically tailored bioweapons. Biometric impersonation. Clones," Miranda enumerated, "off the top of my head…"

"Yeesh," Shepard shook her head, "Okay, you've made your point."

"I'm sure Liara can get it back…" she added, appreciating the halfhearted look of reproach Miranda conjured up for her.

They fell into silence after that, Miranda working through the tangles with the sort of methodical ruthlessness that came so naturally to her. In time, the motion grew regular, and neither remarked upon the fact that the brush was no longer meeting any resistance.

At last, Shepard spoke, "I don't have to tell you that this kid is as much a victim of your father as you or Oriana. I know this feels like Henry Lawson reaching out from beyond the grave just to keep screwing with you, but keep in mind that what he wanted for this kid was a short, boring life as an organ incubator."

Miranda went on brushing, and said nothing.

"That said," Shepard continued, "I understand you feel a certain way about the kid, even though you know it's not fair."

"I'm not sure how much my feelings matter in this case," Miranda remarked.

"Funny," Shepard's tone was wry, "I was about to say the same thing about fairness."

Miranda was silent a moment before responding, "You think I should give him up for adoption?"

Shepard turned to look at her, catching the hand that held the brush in her own, "I think if you can't bring yourself to look into his eyes without seeing that monster you need to. He deserves better and so do you. The foster system isn't perfect, but Oriana and I did just fine with a heck of a lot less support than you and I could throw behind this kid, even from a distance."

Extricating the brush from Miranda's fingers, Shepard gave her shoulder a gentle pat, urging her down onto her side so that the two of them lay facing each other.

"There's something else you should know," Miranda murmured, eyes closing briefly as Shepard swept a dark tendril out of her face, "I'm… not able to have children of my own."

To her surprise, Shepard's gaze fell, "I actually already knew that. It was in your dossier on the Shadow Broker's ship."

"Ah…well…that explains some of Liara's more cryptic remarks," Miranda sighed, staring down into the bedcover, "I know this is something I should have told you before now, but it just didn't seem pertinent with the galaxy crashing down around us. There was a time not long ago when I honestly wondered what sort of idiot would even think of bringing a child into a world like this one."

"What changed?"

"The galaxy, I think," Miranda replied dryly, "Certainly not _me_ , if that's what you're thinking…"

Shepard smiled, "I'm guessing this is one of the things you and Jacob couldn't see eye to eye on?"

"Jacob and I were done for long before this became an issue, though I'm sure it would have served just as well," she shrugged, "He was always more optimistic than I was… probably something to do with the fact that his shitty father had at least enough decency to stay out of his life."

There was a moment's pause.

"I'm guessing from that grave look on your face that my chances aren't good either," Shepard hazarded.

"For children?" Miranda's gaze fell almost unconsciously to her companion's stomach, feeling the faintest shift in Shepard's breathing as her fingers grazed across it, "I honestly don't know for certain. We tried to maximize the integrity of the entire system, but reproductive viability was…"

She trailed off, finding little comfort in the usual safety of clinical language.

"If you can, it wouldn't be thanks to any special effort on my part," she concluded.

"Well, being alive will certainly help, and you had something to do with that," Shepard pointed out, eyes pulling shut, fingers tracing a reciprocal path up and down the side of Miranda's thigh.

"Shepard," Miranda's tone was low, the motions of her fingers almost restless, "This could be my only-"

"No."

She blinked. Shepard's eyes were open again, her hand having caught Miranda's. Her face was inches away, locked in that resolute expression that signaled she was prepared to drag the impossible kicking and screaming into the realm of reality if necessary.

"The galaxy is a big place, and we're very stubborn people. This is not your only chance," she repeated evenly, like she was saying the collector base would fall, like she was saying the reapers would meet their end, like she was saying they'd make it through, and find each other again on the other side.

It was little more than audacity, little more than vague hope. But it meant something coming from a woman who had always wielded her optimism more like a shotgun than a shield.

"You still haven't told me what _you_ think," Miranda ventured, fingers tangling with her companion's, "about him."

Another moment of silence.

"I guess I'd say I'm having a hard time feeling impartial, too," Shepard said at last.

Miranda's brow drew together, "It must have been quite a thing to come back to."

"It's not that, it's just…" Shepard took another moment to search for her next words, "Well, he's a clone, for one."

"…meaning?"

She swallowed.

"It doesn't make a whole lot of sense," she said, shaking her head slightly, "All I can say is that I watched my clone slip away and... well, I'll never know."

Miranda sighed, shimmying slightly closer, "The lawyer's office doesn't reopen until after the holidays, so I suppose there's no use worrying about it before then."

Shepard nodded, "We'll do right by this kid, one way or another."

"We?" Miranda disliked the sound of her own incredulousness the moment she heard it, but found herself unable to decide exactly what tone might have been preferable.

Shepard chuckled, "You… me… anyone else who feels entitled to a say in your life…"

A soft smile played on Miranda's features, "Why would you want a say in my life? Why would anyone?"

Leaning forward, Shepard pressed their lips together, which seemed like answer enough for tonight.

Tapping her omni-tool, Miranda turned off the lights before winding her arms around Shepard for what felt like the first time in far too long. For once there was no uniform to unfasten, no armor to disassemble— just that body she knew as well as her own; just Shepard, warm and sinuous beneath a shirt and shorts. After a moment, Miranda felt the other woman pull back.

"Should we be doing this with him right there?" Shepard asked, throwing a furtive glance over her shoulder.

"Children don't form lasting memories until well past the age of two," Miranda replied, "Why do you think I took Ori when I did?"

She felt Shepard's arms stiffen around her.

"Oh come now, none of that," she chided, kissing the sudden downward curve of Shepard's mouth, "Those of us who _can_ form memories have no excuse for living in the past."

* * *

Shepard was no stranger to sudden awakenings in the night. During the war, sleep had always been a dicey proposition. It meant Chakwas-interventions postponed but also messages and opportunities missed. And sometimes even the doctor's severest summons was preferable to the shadows and whispers that waited in her dreams.

Apparently, none of this was sufficient preparation for waking to the sound of a whimpering child. She sat up, feeling Miranda yawn and stir beside her. With a reassuring pat, she slipped out of the bed. If Miranda had been doing this every night it only seemed right that she tag in. Pulling the covers back up and rolling onto her side, Miranda conceded the point.

"Alright Mr. Lawson, I'm coming," Shepard muttered through a yawn of her own, pulling on her discarded shirt and shorts before going over to lift him out of his cage.

 _Crib- it's a crib_ , she corrected, falling into the nearby seat, which had doubtless been appointed for this very purpose.

Humming snatches of what might have been lullabies her mother had sung to her, she rocked slightly.

"Now what's it going to take to win your loyalty?" she wondered, "Do I even bother?"

He gurgled in reply, the swaying and humming seeming to have done the trick, or perhaps the sudden presence of the second or third person he'd ever seen in his life. Wide blue eyes gazed up at her curiously.

Shepard sighed, feeling a faint twinge in her heart, "You look so much like her…"

* * *

"There you are."

Miranda felt a familiar presence sidle up behind her, arms resting easily at the very spot just above her hips where they had passed most of the night.

"I was looking everywhere for you, you fabulous piece of Alliance-issued outerwear," Shepard murmured, nuzzling into the fabric at her neck.

"I confess, I might be beginning to understand the appeal," Miranda admitted, pushing the sleeves of the ill-gotten hoodie back up her forearms, "It _is_ warm, and it smells like you. It makes a fair substitute— maybe I'll have to hang onto it when they send you away."

"I can't say I'm too bothered by the idea of it smelling like you when I come to pick it up," Shepard hummed.

Miranda paused in her chopping, selecting a particularly picturesque wedge of strawberry from the board to offer over her shoulder, "Were you just here for the hoodie then?" she inquired neutrally as Shepard plucked the offering from her fingers.

"Not exactly, but I do need something to make me _less_ naked, and you don't have the greatest track record on that, so…" Shepard's fingers were slipping under her shirt and she swatted them away, muttering something about nuisance admirals and sharp knives even as she whirled in the embrace. The stern look she was going for was undermined somewhat by the laughter on her lips.

"I love it when you giggle," Shepard sighed through a smile, nuzzling Miranda's nose with hers, "You sound so _happy_."

"I am happy," Miranda returned the eskimo kiss with a more traditional one, "But I don't giggle. Now go feed him his breakfast and let me finish yours."

With a gentle pull of her biotics, she summoned the packet she'd preemptively set out on the far counter, pressing it into Shepard's hand.

"Show-off," Shepard remarked, the faint tug of dissipating mass effect fields tickling her palm beneath the packaging.

"You weren't complaining last night," Miranda teased, "At least I don't _think_ you were— a few of the noises you made were not entirely unambiguous. Then again, I flatter myself to think that I've become quite conversant in indiscreetly-loud-Shepard."

She ran a fond thumb along the color spreading across Shepard's cheeks, "Lucky for you, the station is nearly empty and the crib has unidirectional sound dampeners."

"Unidirectional sound dampeners?" Shepard whistled, "Now there's a handy feature. No more waking babies when you're making babies..."

Miranda snorted, "You know, if the admiralty doesn't work out, you could always consider a career in PR."

"Near as I can tell, that's what a peacetime admiralty job is."

Shepard set off in search of a spoon, motivated by the success of her pestering combined with the sudden, stark awareness of that one quarter-strawberry sitting lonely in her otherwise empty stomach.

"You know," she said, "The last time I had you laughing like this was after the gala and you were _quite_ tipsy. What are you under the influence of this time?"

"I'd tell you, but I think that's enough uncharacteristic behavior for one day," Miranda replied summarily, glancing at her omni-tool to check the status of the eggs before returning her attention to the paring.

"Speaking of uncharacteristic behavior," Shepard tried one drawer and then another, "Since when do you cook?"

"I cook," Miranda protested, adding, "Ori's been teaching me."

In fact, when she'd first arrived on the station, she'd hardly made use of her small kitchen at all. Oriana on the other hand, chagrined by what the student dorms offered by way of food preparation facilities, had taken to cooking there on a regular basis. It was through her influence that peripherals began to proliferate and cabinets came to be neatly filled rather than neatly empty.

As it turned out, thanks largely to the influence of her non-maniacal father, Oriana was quite good at cooking.

 _Easily better than you or Shepard,_ as she put it, adding _probably not as good as James_ just to twist the knife.

Still, cooking had proven as attainable a skill as any other for Miranda Lawson, and when she'd awoken that morning feeling an odd combination of satisfaction and hunger, a boundless energy and an utter lack of commitments aside from her two blissfully snoring companions, she'd set upon the kitchen with relish.

"It's funny," Shepard remarked, her hand emerging triumphant from the third drawer she tried, "James has been trying to get me to cook too, and I'm starting to get the feeling it's not just to annoy Traynor anymore."

Miranda looked up sharply, "You don't think…"

They exchanged glances, amusement dawning on Shepard's even as horror dawned on Miranda's.

"What?" Shepard headed over to the table, pulling out a seat beside the high-chair, "I think it's cute. Our incompetence at performing mundane tasks is bringing them together."

Miranda made a face.

"Well, maybe incompetence is a bit strong," Shepard amended, "The word James used was 'haphazard,' along with a bunch of Spanish my translator didn't see fit to expound on..."

"Regardless," Miranda frowned, cleaving the last strawberry right down the middle, "He's using me to get to my sister."

"Oh right, because I'm sure this was _James'_ idea."

Miranda kept her mouth shut, unable to bring herself to assert that the newly-commissioned Major Vega was a likelier architect of such a plot than her sister. By now, she was well-accustomed to both Oriana and James' somewhat different brands of intractability. The thought of them as co-conspirators was almost as terrifying as the thought of them as anything else.

Shepard, meanwhile, had turned her attention to the child beside her. He had been his usual stoic self ever since she'd entered the room, though his gaze had followed their interchange with measured interest. But the first sight of the brightly-colored package brought an urgent delight to his plump features, and he reached for it eagerly.

"You're hungry too, eh kid?" Shepard squeezed a dollop out onto the spoon.

"I think this might be the same stuff in Alliance ration packs," she mused, nodding appreciatively as Miranda set a steaming mug of coffee in front of her before preemptively nudging it out of reach of tiny fingers, "Flavors are better though. Joker and I probably would have killed each other over 'Granny's Tupo Berry Pie'…"

Setting her tea at the opposite place, Miranda gave an incredulous shake of her head. The way marines formed attachments to the pseudo-food issued by the Alliance military could only be described as pathological—something akin to Stockholm Syndrome no doubt.

Well, the war was over, and today's breakfast was the first step towards weaning its hero off rations. True, eggs you could get most places if you weren't particular about what had laid them, but outside of the Sol system, Earth fruits were really only available at specialized markets like the one she'd become a regular customer of on Elysium.

When she'd seen strawberries in their extranet catalogue she'd ordered them immediately, severely disappointed that she wouldn't be able to share them with Oriana. Fortunately, Shepard's talent for showing up right when she was needed had taken care of that. Miranda would be damned if her father's clone learned to appreciate solid foods before Shepard did.

"Here comes Harbinger to activate the Citadel relay," Shepard was cooing, zooming the purplish mound in a zigzag pattern through the air. Apparently her enthusiasm for nutrient-fortified tupo berry puree was shared, because the child seemed to be eating quite amicably. He giggled, losing much of what he'd consumed onto his chin even as he accepted another bite.

"You did it. This cycle is completely within your thrall!" Shepard cheered, chuckling right along with him.

Setting the plates at the table, Miranda took a seat, and a sip from her mug. It was uncanny (in a typical, Shepard sort of way) how quickly the two of them had warmed to one another, though who exactly was in who's thrall was less certain. His pale blue eyes sparkled with joy, and it occurred to Miranda that they were absolutely nothing like her father's, though the shade was unmistakably his.

She felt something twist in her stomach, and swallowed it down with another sip of tea.

"Shepard."

"Hm?" The two of them were grinning at one another, another spoonful taking a meandering path to his mouth.

"Shepard, you need to stop doing that."

Shepard started, turning to her sharply, and Miranda internally conceded that perhaps she'd set her mug down a bit to crisply.

"What?" Shepard asked, "Am I feeding him wrong?"

"It's not that," Miranda replied hastily, "It's just… you're letting yourself become attached."

"Oh…" Shepard glanced over at the child, who was patting his hands on the tray before him, likely in an attempt to attract the attention of the 'food dispenser', "No I'm not."

"Yes, you are," Miranda insisted, "I know you, Shepard. You have a _prolific_ ability to develop attachments. The first time your fish died you brooded for a week, and I understand that there is currently a husk head in your cabin with a _name_. This is a baby. He's designed to be irresistible."

 _Like you._

Miranda took a deep sip of tea to avoid looking at the somewhat deflated expression on Shepard's face.

"Just try to stay impartial," she added more softly, "for your sake."

 _For my sake._

"For our sake," she corrected, "Getting attached is just going to make this decision harder."

Shepard shook her head, giving into Henry's demands for another bite, "Lucky for us you don't do attached, right Miss Lawson?" she said evenly.

"Ah yes, rub my nose in that one some more, why don't you," Miranda replied sulkily, digging into her breakfast at last.

* * *

Miranda hefted Shepard's bag up onto the table, "I don't suppose there's anything lethal in here I should know about?"

"Lethal?" Shepard turned from the sink, expression thoughtful, "Why do you ask?"

Miranda raised a brow.

"Oh, right, the kid," Shepard whistled absently to herself, scrubbing the remnants of breakfast from one of the plates, "Yeah, there's probably a thing or two in there that he shouldn't get his hands on for a few more years."

Miranda held two small discs aloft, "Grenades, Shepard?"

"They're just little flashbangs."

She dug further, "Your _Widow_?"

"I need to do a little maintenance on it."

Miranda set the telescoped body down next to the grenades, "You know this model is still illegal in Council Space-"

" _Spectre_."

"-and that technically weapons aren't allowed on this part of the station at all."

Shepard snorted, "Right- I'm sure you and Jack follow _that_ rule assiduously." She was just scouring the dark ring from the inside of her mug when a thought occurred to her.

"Wait," she whirled, hurrying over to the table, "Stop digging around in there!"

She caught Miranda's hand and pulled the bag back towards her. Extracting a Carnifex, she laid it carefully on the table beside the grenades.

"Hiding something?" Miranda asked, retrieving a nearby dishtowel to wipe the suds from her wrist and eyeing the bag with new curiosity.

"Yes, damnit. It's nearly Christmas," Shepard replied irritably, "I'm guessing you want the mods too?"

"Yes please. Anything he could conceivably kill or maim himself with," Miranda held out the dishtowel, but Shepard was already wiping the residual dishwater off on her pants.

She rifled through the bag, producing one last object, "Might as well throw the echo shard in with the rest. Kid could probably do more damage to himself with that than he could with the guns."

She gathered up the pile, following Miranda to the closet and setting each article gently onto the weapons bench in its turn.

"You're going to be kicking yourself when the holiday assassins come for us," she sulked, leaning in to cast a frown at a small blemish in the barrel of her Carnifex.

"I'm sure my biotics will be more than sufficient," Miranda hummed, tracing a faint line of blue biotics down her companion's spine, "They certainly were last night."

Green eyes and a rakish smiled flickered towards her, and Shepard straightened, all fretting over the sidearm forgotten.

"Just remember, not all of us can flay people with our minds," she said, allowing herself to be led out of the small room, "Some of us have to flay people the old-fashioned way."

"Speaking of which," she glanced back over towards the high-chair, "Do we know if the one-year-old here can flay people with his mind?"

"We do not," Miranda replied, "He hasn't shown any indication of biotic potential, but that's hardly diagnostic at his age."

Shepard activated her omni-tool to set a lock on the door, "That's that. Stick around and someday I'll teach you to break that, kid."

Miranda shot her a look and Shepard rolled her eyes.

"I'll take the guns out first…"

* * *

Miranda glanced up from her report to acknowledge the softly smiling figure leaning against the doorway.

"Never thought I'd be saying this to you of all people, but that's an impressive work-life balance you seem to have worked out, Miss Lawson."

"Very funny," Miranda replied, shifting the datapad resting on her right knee slightly further from the child on her left, "I'm making an effort to spend time with him but he's attempted to make corrections to my report three times now."

"Sounds like my old XO," Shepard remarked, reaching into her pocket.

A moment later she froze, the nutrient bar halfway towards her mouth, unable to ignore the two pairs of identical blue eyes staring at her.

"Are you eating a ration bar?" Miranda's brows shot up, "By choice?"

Shepard shrugged, "They're not so bad."

Miranda shook her head, expression caught between distaste and disbelief, "Shepard, we're in synchronous orbit with one of humanity's most well-established colonies, not the _Far Rim_. There are bound to be better options."

Shepard blinked, "You know, that's not a bad idea…"

A grin spread across her face, the delight of even a chocolate-levo-crunch bar forgotten, "Let's go down to Elysium— I've still got the comm frequency of the guy who drove me up here..."

"We'll just have something delivered," Miranda countered, eyes returning to her datapad, "You couldn't go five minutes on Elysium without being recognized, and with a baby-"

"So I'll wear a hat or something. Come on, it'll be fun," Shepard had already crossed the room, reaching down for the child on Miranda's knee, "Besides, I think someone around here could use the socialization…"

"Which one of us do you think she's talking about?" Miranda asked dryly as she handed him over.

She got to her feet, heading over to the closet to find something to wear. Shepard did have a point— she couldn't remember the last time the two of them had gone out together. Unless tense constitutionals in the hospital courtyard counted, it undoubtedly dated back to their night at the Silver Coast Casino. Oriana's admonishment from the lunch with Jacob rang in her mind.

When she emerged, Shepard was just getting off a message to the shuttle driver, in spite of the enthusiastic interference of little fingers.

"I can already tell this kid's gonna be a techie. He's completely obsessed with my omni-tool," Shepard said, a note of approval in her tone.

"That's _if_ he turns out not to be biotic," Miranda replied, "Otherwise, as soon as he learns he can make the dog fly just by thinking about it, that omni-tool's going to be just another expensive toy."

"Are you speaking from experience?" Shepard's tone was a little _too_ hopeful.

"Suffice to say that if his experience is anything like mine, the day he gets an omni-tool will be the most exciting day of his life, but only until the day he gets an amp," Miranda replied, collecting a few necessities in a bag and pointedly ignoring her companion's unsatisfied curiosity.

Shepard sighed, leaning back again, "And then you'll discover girls, or maybe boys, or maybe asari…" she gave him a bounce on her knee, "You should probably stick with tech."

"I think you're getting a bit ahead of yourself," Miranda remarked, coming over to stand before the other woman with her hands on her hips, "Alright Jane Shepard, what reason could you possibly have for giving me that look?"

Shepard got to her feet with a shrug, smile slightly conspiratorial, "I think this'll be good for you is all. Have you been down to Elysium even once since coming here?"

"Well, I did fly in at the spaceport, and there was a colonial zoning meeting I was asked to attend…" Miranda trailed off, slinging the bag over her shoulder, "Why are _you_ so bent on going there anyway?"

Shepard shrugged again, "I've only been there the one time, but it seemed like a nice enough place."

"The one time?" Miranda's brow piqued, "As in during the Skyllian Blitz?"

"Okay, so it was nice _when I got there_ , and yes, I know you've heard that one from me before," Shepard grumbled, preempting the inevitable sushi reference, "Speaking of which, I should at least grab the Carnifex."

"Already packed," Miranda said, giving the diaper bag under her arm a pat, "Would you like to carry him?"

"Sure," she watched as Miranda retrieved something before coming up behind her to slip straps over her shoulders, "You've got a baby… holster… thing."

"A carrier, yes…" Miranda's tone was amused.

"You know that if you bought this thing on the extranet, Liara knows," Shepard pointed out.

"Lucky for me, I kept a few of my old alter-egos intact."

Now it was Shepard's turn to be amused, "For just such an occasion?"

"Close enough," Miranda shrugged, "Believe it or not, my Batarian supplier didn't so much as blink."

She made a few adjustments to the straps, tightening here and shifting there. At length, she took the child, situating him within the folds of the contraption.

Shepard shifted, letting the weight on her shoulders settle, her thoughts impulsively returning to that other little boy she'd carried with her for so very long. His face was seared into her memory, her arm forever extended for a little hand that would never reach back. And no matter how far she got from Earth, or from war, he was always there, and he was always gone.

It was too much to hope the memory would fade. Wrong to hope for it anyway, any more than she might hope to forget her mother's face, or Anderson's. But there were anchor points; counterweights to be found in the errant brush of Miranda's industrious fingers on her shoulder blades or the anxious wriggling of the child on her back. Precious cargo this, whether he was with them for the rest of their lives or just one Christmas. Worth remembering. Worth carrying.

"Come to think of it," Miranda was saying, "This could be good for you too. You could stand to have a break from all the speeches and photo-ops… enjoy the luxury of anonymity for a day."

"You _will_ have to pose for at least one picture. Ori's going to insist on some manner of proof," she went on, arms encircling Shepard's middle from behind as she brought around the two ends of the waist strap. She felt forearms settle along hers, fingers curling around her wrists.

"You know, it's not all speeches and vids," Shepard said, surprising Miranda with the sudden softness of her tone.

"Of course not," clicking the belt into place, Miranda nonetheless let her arms linger, "I'm sure there's a good deal of handshaking and baby kissing as well."

"True enough," Shepard chuckled, gingerly turning in the embrace.

"Sometimes I get that part mixed up though," she added, offering a hand over her shoulder to give Henry's grasping fingers a tiny shake before leaning in for a smiling kiss.

* * *

 _A/N: There you go- next chapter should be the last one! Please look forward to an exciting field trip to Elysium and a familiar face that has yet to make an appearance in this fic..._

 _Thanks for reading and reviewing- always happy to know I'm not out paddling this ship alone :)_


	10. The End, The Beginning

" _Why_ are you wearing that hat?"

Shepard smiled enigmatically, resettling the cap on her head as they weaved their way through the crowded spaceport.

"I guess it's just my way of saying _Go Admirals_ ," she baritoned in her best Derek Rogers impersonation, "And if there's one thing postwar life has taught me, it's that a hat with a brim is the civilian equivalent of a tactical cloak."

Miranda spied the rapid transit station. She cut through the crowd, her companion following in the narrow corridor of space that opened in her wake before zippering closed behind them. Shepard, for her part, was trying to get used to the extra width of the tiny human strapped onto her back. Somehow the issue of personal space hadn't come up with the same frequency when the thing strapped to her back was a _Widow_.

"Where did you even get it?" Miranda's tone bordered on morbid curiosity.

"The hat?" Shepard shrugged, which her little passenger seemed to enjoy if the approving pats on her shoulder were any indication, "Actually, Jack sent it to me. She sort of roped me into attending the season opener."

Miranda blinked, "Why? You don't know the first thing about biotiball."

"Maybe she wants me there as the mascot," Shepard laughed, shifting the cap again like she couldn't quite get it to sit right.

"Go Admirals!" a tall turian called out as she walked by.

"Go Admirals!" Shepard called back.

Miranda shook her head, stepping up to the console to enter their destination.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Shepard asked, leaning over her companion's shoulder even as the kid leaned over hers.

"Shepard Plaza," Miranda replied, fingers flying across the interface, "I've been meaning to see it, but the opportunity never presented itself."

Shepard raised a brow, "You're worried about me getting recognized and you want to go stand near a statue of me?"

"I'm sure the hat will confound even the most astute observers," Miranda remarked dryly, heading in the direction of a row of shuttles. They settled into one, and before long they were zooming across the city, the VI pilot cheerily announcing the appearance of notable sites along the way.

Turning from the window emulators, Shepard glanced at the map Miranda had pulled up on her omni-tool, "Just Shepard Plaza now, eh?"

"They can't very well call it a memorial plaza anymore, what with you being alive," Miranda pointed out. The child, who had been watching the zooming scenery now turned his attention to the glowing interface, kicking his feet delightedly through an area labelled 'Financial District'.

"They're just going to have to change it back when I die," Shepard remarked, "Come to think of it, we could wreak some serious havoc on the signage people if you brought me back again."

Miranda gave her a sideways glance, "Didn't I tell you I'm out of the resurrection game for good?"

"Well yeah, but… doesn't the potential for mischief make you want to reconsider?"

Miranda shrugged, "Not generally, no."

With a small smile, Shepard returned her gaze to the window.

"Probably for the best," she concluded, leaning on her fist, "Less chance of you falling in love with the next handsome corpse…"

The ride was brief, and before long the shuttle dipped down towards a sprawling plaza, situating itself beside a row of identical vehicles.

"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to come here," Miranda conceded as they stepped out, "It was easy to blend in at the spaceport, but the plaza's not nearly as crowded."

"Don't worry about it, no one's paying any attention to me," Shepard replied, "They're all looking at her."

Miranda followed her gaze to the center of the square. There, on a slightly raised platform, crouching behind an artfully rendered barricade, a rifle gripped in her hands and brass heat sinks sunken into the ground around her boots, was the hero of the Blitz.

It was a fairly good rendition, Shepard looking young and fierce and indomitable, an untested corporal with the toughest battles and the greatest victories of her life yet before her. Possibly the larger share of the pain too, though with Mindoir just six years past that was less certain. The real Shepard was looking on with an unreadable expression, her eyes as opaque as the smooth metallic ones on the statue before them.

"What do you think?" Miranda prompted.

Shepard still seemed to be trying to decide, "It does look like Anderson's…"

"Well, technically _it_ came first," Miranda pointed out, "But I suspect that look might just be an Alliance standard. The statue of Jon Grissom in the mess hall is made of synthetic brass as well."

"Synthetic brass," Shepard snickered to herself, "guess someone in the Alliance has a sense of humor."

"Or completely missed the subtext, more like."

The remark earned Miranda a more unfettered laugh from the woman beside her.

"Maybe go easy on the Alliance, Miss Lawson," Shepard suggested, starting off in the direction of the statue, "You _do_ work for them these days."

"I thought you were trying to get me to be more critical of my employers," Miranda said, following along beside her.

"Only the evil ones," Shepard clarified.

They had paused just short of the bulk of the onlookers, where they could still talk freely in low tones.

"I would've given my left arm for just one gun as nice as that one during the Blitz," Shepard muttered, "Come to think of it, I don't think heat sinks had even been invented yet. A pile of used stims would have been a lot more accurate."

"I doubt a pile of used stims would have looked good on the hero of the Blitz," Miranda observed.

Shepard's expression darkened, more and more akin to the one the statue wore.

"Things narrow fast when you're out there alone, shooting. You go out for the right reasons— for humanity and for the innocent people at your back. But before long, you're pulling the trigger for every corpse you saw on Mindoir, for your family, for your mother…" Shepard trailed off, gaze drifting from the statue across the rest of the plaza, "At some point, even that fades away and you're not fighting for a damn thing other than yourself. I wasn't a hero on Elysium, not after the first nine hours anyway."

Miranda's expression was grim, but certain, "You didn't break and Elysium didn't fall. War always comes down to trading what you can lose for what you can't."

"And the real trick is figuring out which is which," Shepard grunted, rubbing absently at a phantom soreness that only existed in her memory, "After the Blitz I couldn't stand fighting alone. If you're part of a squad, no matter how narrow things get, there's always a voice on your comm, another set of vitals to watch on your HUD. That's why I started shying away from sniper posts and ended up on the officer track. Well, that and the Star of Terra."

Miranda nodded, resting a reassuring hand against the small of Shepard's back. There was little doubt that the galaxy owed its collective existence to this trick of proclivity. She herself owed far more.

The sudden sensation of tiny feet dangling just short of her knuckles took her by surprise.

" _Shepard_ , they said, _you'll be remembered for this_ …" the woman beside her sighed nostalgically, her moroseness already fading. She turned to Miranda with an almost coy expression, "Said the same thing after I beat the reapers, you know."

Miranda shot her an incredulous look, "What, you think you've got more in you even after that?"

Shepard returned a grin, which kept her next words from ringing too grim, "Honestly, I don't think I'd be here if I didn't."

They stood for a moment in silence, watching the small crowd buzz around the statue.

"It's a passable likeness," Miranda admitted at last, grudgingly, "The asari hanging all over it is an unexpected touch of accuracy."

Shepard laughed, watching the group of Maidens crowd around for a holo, "Seems pretty stoic in the face of all that attention. Probably waiting around for someone as emotionally stunted as it is."

The offhanded smack to Shepard's forearm was practically involuntary, and Miranda was about to reply when something more important occurred to her.

"They forgot the scar across your eyebrow," she said with a frown.

"Huh."

"Huh?" Miranda's brow shot up, "Is that all?"

Shepard shrugged, "It's just a scar. It's not that important."

"Do you know how many times in the course of rebuilding you I said to myself 'It's just a _blank_ , it's not that important'?" Miranda asked, frown deepening.

Shepard gave her a knowing look.

"My point is, if I could take the time to replicate it in cultured flesh they could bloody well chisel it into their statue," Miranda insisted.

"Can't say I'm surprised to hear that yours is the superior rendition," Shepard laughed.

Miranda nodded, considering the point quite uncontroversial. Let the artists boast about looking at a block and seeing the sculpture within. She had looked at a freezer burned lump of organic matter and seen Commander Shepard.

Just then, a voice from behind interrupted them.

"Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear your discussion of _scargate_."

Miranda froze, hand dropping from Shepard's back as she cautiously turned to see who had spoken. Shepard sighed, turning as well, though she already knew who the voice belonged to.

"Conrad Verner," he introduced himself, "President of- Oh my god, is that you, She-"

Before he could manage the second syllable of her name, Shepard had an arm clamped around his neck, practically dragging him away from the crowd even as she pulled the hat still lower over her face with her free hand. Miranda followed, mildly perplexed, though probably not as much as she should have been.

"I almost didn't recognize you in that hat!" Conrad laughed when she released him, completely unruffled by the minor assault, "Hey, is that a baby?"

"I'm undercover, Conrad," Shepard replied almost automatically.

"Got it, that makes sense," he nodded, as if it did. Miranda avoided the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"Anyway, getting back to the scar," he returned his attention to Miranda, "There's been a lot of discussion of that on the forums, and the consensus seems to be that contrary to popular opinion, she received it _after_ the Blitz."

"Nonsense," Miranda crossed her arms, "It's clearly visible during the commendation ceremony."

"Yes, but hear me out," Conrad persisted, "Between the Blitz itself and the ceremony where the famous 'Commendation Vid' was taken, there were several lesser-known missions-"

"I'm familiar with Operation Igneous," Miranda interjected impatiently, "I've also seen the medical report filed by the _Agincourt_ 's doctor immediately after the Blitz. Corporal Shepard was treated for severe sleep deprivation and a minor laceration across her left brow."

He shook his head, "Yes, but-"

"Shepard?" Miranda turned to her with an expectant look.

"What?" Shepard's brow furrowed and she glanced back and forth between them, " _I_ don't remember."

"Now wait just a minute," Conrad went on without missing a beat, "Those medical records won't be declassified until 2226!"

Miranda didn't so much as blink, and the look of triumph faded, his eyes widening slightly as her identity finally crystalized in his mind. Now would come that inevitable question: _Are you Miranda Lawson?_

"Can I have you comm frequency?"

Or that one. She was almost forgetting to expect that one now that her primary claim to fame was her attachment to the woman who'd beaten the reapers.

"No," Shepard replied before she could.

He sighed, "Oh well. At least I still have yours…"

Miranda shot the woman beside her an incredulous look, and Shepard raised her hands defensively, "He was helping with the crucible!" she said, as if that was somehow _more_ believable.

"Conrad," a chiding voice interrupted before Miranda could express any further skepticism, "Are you asking other women for their comm frequencies when you're supposed to be scoping out our wedding location?"

A woman with short brown hair strode towards them. Her long-suffering expression might have seemed melodramatic had she not just revealed herself to be the fiancée of Conrad Verner.

"Jenna, is that you?" Shepard's brow knit incredulously as she added, "You're really still with Conrad?"

"You know me Shepard, never one to give up on a difficult post," she replied with a bemused expression, hands on her hips, "Good to see you again. Can't say I expected to run into you here, at least not in the flesh. And you must be Miranda Lawson. So who's the little guy? I feel like Conrad would have told me if there was a junior Shepard running around out there."

"Shepard's undercover," Conrad explained.

"Undercover?" Jenna raised a brow, and for a moment it seemed like she might press the issue.

"Well, don't worry. Your secret's safe with me," she said instead, tossing Shepard a small wink, "You never did manage to blow my cover all those years ago at Chora's Den, so I might as well return the favor."

"So, the two of you are planning your wedding?" Miranda interjected, eager to move on before Conrad caught wind of any possible conspiracy.

"Yep," he replied cheerily, all thoughts of the baby forgotten again, "You know, Shepard Memorial Plaza has been voted hottest wedding location three years in a row now!"

"Conrad and the rest of the flock may have had something to do with that," Jenna put in.

"You call yourselves _the flock_?" Shepard rubbed her forehead, "Conrad…"

"Oh, we just organized a little get-out-the-vote campaign, nothing major," Conrad insisted, waving his hand dismissively, "Say, you wouldn't be able to come to the wedding, would you?"

To Miranda's (and probably Jenna's, and possibly even Conrad's) great surprise, Shepard didn't immediately decline.

"Send me the date," she said, "I'll see what I can do."

A smile spread across Conrad's face, lifting the corners of his goatee so that it appeared to be grinning as well, "Really? You'd really be there?"

"I don't think he was this happy when _I_ agreed to be there," Miranda heard Jenna mutter.

Conrad was already going on excitedly, "You could be my best man! I asked the vice president, but he would _definitely_ underst-"

"Conrad, I'm not even sure if I'll be in the same system," Shepard interrupted, "Just send me the dates and I'll look into it."

"Thanks Shepard. This means a lot to us," he said with a nod, slipping his arm around his fiancée, who sighed and shook her head with fond exasperation.

She turned to Miranda, "You would of course be welcome too. Along with anyone else you might want to bring…"

She trailed off, shooting a significant glance at the baby snoozing on Shepard's shoulder.

"Yeah, like Garrus, or Tali," Conrad provided, nodding excitedly.

"In any case, we really should get going," Jenna said, "We have an appointment this afternoon with a wedding planner here on Elysium, and you know how salarians hate it when you're late."

Conrad started to make a protesting noise, but when she added that standing around like this was conspicuous, and they ran the risk of blowing the Shepard's cover, he finally acquiesced. With one last wave, they headed off in the direction of the rapid transit station, Miranda and Shepard watching until they disappeared into one of the shuttles.

"So," Shepard said after a moment of silence, "that was Conrad Verner…"

"He certainly is enthusiastic," Miranda shook her head, "Not to mention well-informed."

Shepard winced slightly, "Bet you didn't know they had extranet forums devoted to questions like which day I acquired which scar."

"Oh, I did," Miranda replied, "I post on them anonymously sometimes."

Shepard did a double-take, but Miranda merely adopted an enigmatic smile and declined to elaborate.

"Shall we find somewhere to eat?" she proposed, activating her omni-tool, "You were desperate enough to eat a ration bar several hours ago so you must be starving by now."

"Oh look," she indicated one of the recommendations, "There's a sushi place a block north of here…"

Shepard gave her a wary glance, but leaned in, reading aloud, " _Skyllian Sushi is the best thing to happen to Elysium since Corporal Shepard decided the colony would be a fun place for a holiday_."

"There's more," Miranda continued, " _The only place outside of the milky way with better rolls is Ryuusei's on the Silversun Strip, but good luck getting a table there_."

"Good luck indeed," she added gravely.

Shepard eyed her narrowly until she looked up with an unassuming glance.

"Shall we?"

Shepard nodded, shoving her hands into her pockets as she spared one final glance back at the statue. An overeager salarian had enveloped it in a bear hug as his friend hurried to capture a holo.

"I still prefer my version," Miranda concluded, looping an arm around Shepard's lower back, this time nimbly evading the buffet of swinging feet as she held her omni-tool out before them.

Shepard smiled as the camera clicked, "Me too."

* * *

Staring down at the picture, Miranda sighed.

It was perfect—she and Shepard looking casual, comfortable, happy. 'Oriana's going to say _I recognize you, but who's that attractive marine in the stylish hat?'_ Shepard had teased. Just for that, Miranda had sent the garish thing spinning off to some far corner of the room in a cloud of biotics, much to the amusement of a clapping child.

And therein lay the problem. She couldn't very well send the picture to Oriana without having some serious explaining to do about the dark-haired infant visible over Shepard's shoulder. The handy 'undercover' excuse seemed unlikely to work on anyone aside from Conrad Verner, her sister least of all.

"Alright Mr. Lawson, you've had a long day," she heard Shepard say from the other room.

"Must you call him that?" Miranda asked when she returned alone.

"No," Shepard eyed her carefully, "Is there something you'd rather I called him?"

Miranda sighed, leaning back into the couch as she crossed one leg over the other, "I suppose not. Henry isn't much better…"

Shepard came over and took a seat beside her, "Are you thinking about giving him a new name? Would it help?"

She mulled over it for a moment, absently scratching her collarbone, "Did I ever tell you why I kept the name Lawson?"

"Always figured it was easier than changing it to _fuck you, dad_ outright," Shepard deadpanned.

A slow smile broke across her face, "Something like that…"

Shepard reached over and captured her anxious hand, lacing it in her own before resting them both on her raised thigh.

"There was no point in hiding," Miranda continued, "He was bound to find me working for Cerberus; the plan relied on immunity, not subterfuge. In that context, his name was just one more thing I took without his consent."

Shepard nodded, brow lightly furrowed in concentration. She was such a good listener. Hell, in the early days, she'd practically listened her way into Miranda's bed. Even after that, she'd kept listening—if anything, she'd listened _closer_ — as if the act had earned her the words and not the other way around.

"You know, you don't have to make decisions around him anymore. Don't even have to factor him in," Shepard offered when she was silent for too long, "Personally, I'm an advocate of the 'let the kid name himself' approach."

" _That_ is how we end up with names like Grunt."

"And Legion," Shepard defended, before admitting, "EDI helped with that one."

Miranda chuckled, but it fell off into abrupt silence.

"I don't know," she finally said, "If I decide not to keep him it isn't really my place to choose his name."

"He's got to start with something. People need a name to be born and a name to die— paperwork says so," Shepard persisted, adding more softly, "He is who he is, no matter what you call him. If he doesn't like it he can always join the army or make friends with James."

Miranda scoffed.

"You laugh, but your bastard of a father came up with Miranda and my beloved mother, god rest her soul, called me _Jane_."

"I like Jane," Miranda countered, "It's compact and punchy… like a proper report, or a good pistol."

"Or a drunk volus," Shepard grumbled.

"In any case, _if_ the paperwork says anything," Miranda finally conceded, drumming her fingertips against Shepard's knuckles, "it's 'Henry Lawson'. No doubt to facilitate whatever recordkeeping sleight-of-hand was necessary."

"So call him Henry Lawson, or call him Grunt Jr..." Shepard continued. Miranda was shaking her head.

"Heck, you could call him Henry Shepard if you wanted to," Shepard muttered, almost to herself.

Almost.

The silence this time felt heavy, or maybe it was Miranda's stare. She was trying to decide if she'd heard right; try to decide whether it was idiotic to read significance in the last item in a string of jokes. Hard to laugh though, with that dead serious look on Shepard's face.

She felt the fingers entwined in hers tighten, then gently withdraw, and then Shepard was on her feet, retreating to the bedroom, raising a hand to stave off protests. And no, it wasn't a retreat, but a calculated maneuver. When she returned, there was a small, neatly-wrapped box in her hands.

"I was planning on waiting until Christmas," Shepard began, holding the box in both hands though it was far too small and light to merit it, "But if you're going to go making big decisions about the future I figure you better have all the information."

"There was one other reason I made sure I got some time off to spend with you this Christmas," she continued, taking a tentative step forward, "Seems like in the last few months I've been to every corner of the galaxy. Did a lot of thinking, mostly about you, and if it's convinced me of anything, it's that this is where I want to hang my hat."

Almost involuntarily, Miranda got to her feet.

"This wasn't part of the plan," Shepard went on, shooting a significant glance back to where a small child slept in the bedroom, "but it can be."

When her gaze returned to Miranda, it was set, "I just want you to know that no matter what you decide, it doesn't change a thing, not for me, anyway."

She started to hold out the box.

"You have to get on one knee." The words were out of her mouth before Miranda could even think.

Shepard raised a brow.

"It's an old Earth custom."

Shepard cocked her head, "I didn't know there were any old Earth customs for giving people rare mods."

Her heart actually skipped a beat, then the smile that spread across Shepard's face restarted it. Amicably, the admiral fell to one knee, and once again, presented the box.

Instinctively, Miranda's mind ran down that all-too-familiar checklist.

Mission. Cerberus. Oriana.

Done. Gone. _Safe_.

For a single instant, her mind was still, and clear. Then emotion surged into the void.

Shepard was watching her, still patient, still determined. She saw the clarity in Shepard's eyes, hoped Shepard saw the emotion in hers. Her hands were faintly trembling when she reached out to accept the box.

"You know, EDI once gave me a ring," Shepard said softly, "A victory ring."

Miranda's brow quirked, "Is that what this is?"

"Not exactly," Shepard adopted a half-cocked smile, "But maybe this is what victory really adds up to—optimism, possibility… occasional extravagance."

Slowly, Miranda undid the ribbon, lifting the lid away from the box.

"Shepard, it's…" she trailed off, gently lifting it out of its cushion. The little band felt light, yet solid. Her stomach leapt just looking at it.

 _Perfect, beautiful, ours._

Shepard got to her feet, setting the box aside.

"My old tags are melted into it," she explained, reaching out to take Miranda's hands in hers, "It was the one piece of me you gave away and I'm giving it back."

They leaned together, the tiny ring cradled in an excess of fingers.

"I was under the impression that that old Earth custom also involved a somewhat more unequivocal answer," Shepard remarked.

Miranda took a careful breath, "If you want an answer, perhaps you'd better ask a question."

It was all just ritual now. Just morning prayers and a twenty-one gun salute. And then everything would be theirs— the spaces, the decisions, the future…

"Will you marry me?" Shepard was teasing the metal band free of her fingers.

 _This is how victory feels. This is the end. This is the beginning._

"Yes," she said, unequivocally.

* * *

"God, you're really putting my present to shame this year."

Shepard's eyes blinked open, and she yawned, "Were you really lying awake worrying about that, Miss Lawson?" she muttered thickly.

"This was bound to happen sooner or later. Bit of a copout to count it as your Christmas present," she added, already closing her eyes again as she pulled Miranda back down against her like a blanket. They really should have made their way to the bedroom by now, though in a way, the cramped couch facilitated just the sort of entanglement both of them were so eager for at the moment.

Unconvinced, Miranda frowned into the shoulder that was currently serving as her pillow, "But all I got you is a mod-"

She caught herself. Shepard was suddenly very much awake.

"Were you about to say model ship?" she asked, pushing up onto her elbows, "I thought I had all of them…"

She trailed off, confusion rapidly refining into curiosity, "Can I open it now?"

"What makes you think I was going to say model ship?" Miranda demurred, determinedly snuggling back into her chest, "I could just as easily have gotten you a weapon mod."

"Okay," Shepard nodded impatiently, "Can I open it though?"

"Of course not," Miranda yawned herself, "I'm not going to go breaking the rules of Christmas."

"Damnit." Shepard heaved a sigh, collapsing back down against the couch.

Chuckling, Miranda leisurely pulled herself up to plant a kiss against Shepard's pout, "You're going to make a lovely wife, you know that?" she murmured.

"And you're going to make a cruel mistress," Shepard grunted, without opening her eyes.

"Hm?" Miranda queried, her lips following the tip of her nose up Shepard's neck.

"You know, it's not like I planned it this way," Shepard said, "I was going to surprise you. I _practiced_."

"Practiced?" Miranda teased, with tone and with teeth, "With who?"

Her question was met with silence.

Brow furrowing, Miranda drew back, "With who, Shepard?"

"Well… with you, sort of."

Pushing herself up, Miranda rocked back into a seated position on Shepard's chest. She crossed her arms.

Shepard groaned, rubbing her eyes, "Come on Miranda, can't we talk about this in the morning? I'm tired— I want to sleep and/or be kissed. Preferably both."

Miranda shook her head, and Shepard groaned again, draping an arm dramatically over her face.

"Are you familiar with the Shepard VI?" she mumbled at last.

"That shoddy piece of black market rubbish?" Miranda yawned again and shrugged, "I've seen it. Though I'm not sure it really deserves to be called a VI. It doesn't even attempt to simulate actual communication, just spouts out lame catchphrases if I recall correctly."

Shepard nodded, "That's the one. Caught a guy selling them on the Citadel one time. Made him give me a copy."

"Well that was foolish," Miranda frowned, "Putting garbage like that onto your omni-tool is asking for trouble."

"Yeah," Shepard chuckled, "Had to scrub it quite a bit when I got back. Given how lame the VI itself was, the implementation of the malware was surprisingly sophisticated."

Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose. Add to the list of bloody miracles that had saved the galaxy the fact that Cerberus and the reapers had never truly managed to understand the way Shepard thought, in spite of their best efforts. It was less that the woman was unassailable and more that there were some very unexpected windows one had to climb through…

"Anyway, I'd been waiting for a chance to crack the thing open ever since," Shepard went on, "So one night when I couldn't sleep and didn't want to wake you up I gave it a shot."

"I wish to god you'd just called," Miranda grumbled.

Shepard removed her arm from her face, grinning up at the other woman, "It was fun. It relies on a massive initial set of linguistic data, and it did have a crude algorithm for parsing speech, though it had never been implemented."

"Can't imagine why, when it so charmingly generates catchphrases," Miranda put in.

"Anyway, it seemed like it might be fun to try to improve it, and my hardsuit computer happens to contain a not insignificant repository of audio data from a certain someone…"

Miranda blinked, "You didn't."

Shepard's smile turned faintly bashful, "I did."

"You uploaded all of our private conversations into some dubious black-market VI program?" Miranda demanded.

"Just something _based_ on a dubious black-market VI program," Shepard protested, "Besides, it doesn't even retain intelligible recordings. Just grinds them all up into predictive soup."

Miranda huffed, "And to think I was back here this whole time, missing you…"

"Hey, a Shepard VI costs about 200 credits!"

Miranda re-crossed her arms, still frowning, "Show me," she said.

With a sigh, Shepard gestured for Miranda to allow her to stand, before stretching and padding over to the nearby holo projector. She activated her omni-tool, making a series of selections before letting her arm fall to her side.

"Well?" Miranda prompted.

"You have to know the password to activate it," Shepard explained.

"Well I'm sure you know just how to turn me on," Miranda remarked dryly.

"Come on, it's not like that," Shepard groaned, "Do you have to make it sound so creepy?"

Without replying, Miranda gestured for her to go on, and Shepard turned back to the projector.

"Do you have a minute, Miranda?"

The projector activated, scattering light that took on a familiar form.

"Of course. What can I do for you, Commander?"

"Commander?" Miranda raised a brow, "A bit out of date, isn't it?"

"She's only as good as the data," Shepard pointed out, "so yes, most of the time she calls me Commander."

Miranda looked the image up and down, "And this is how you practiced?"

Shepard nodded ruefully, "Never could get her to say yes though. She always seemed to think there was something more important to do."

Miranda didn't look remotely surprised. "It's only as good as the data," she repeated, letting her arms fall to her sides.

"She did locate all of the relevant Alliance marriage paperwork for me," Shepard said, "That was helpful."

"Paperwork which you have yet to complete or even download in full. It does raise the question of how serious you are about this, Commander," the VI remarked, crossing its arms.

Miranda raised a brow, turning to Shepard, "It makes a fair point."

"Well I wasn't going to fill it out until you said yes," Shepard defended.

"But I did say yes," Miranda pointed out, glancing down at her omni-tool, "about three hours ago now."

Shepard frowned, "I'm going to bed," she announced testily, turning on her heels towards the bedroom, "Goodnight."

Miranda watched as the familiar figure faded before turning to follow.

"Goodnight, Shepard," she heard the VI intone as the room filled with darkness.

* * *

"For the last time, no."

His voice, however soft, echoed through the empty hangar bay.

James groaned, " _Dios_ Esteban, quit diggin' in your heels!"

"Look, would you please just enjoy your holiday leave?" Cortez's frowning face emerged from the innards of the shuttle, "When was the last time you spent Christmas on Earth?"

"That's what I mean!" James threw his hands in the air, "The best people in the galaxy are back here for the holidays— you, me, Traynor, Joker, doc-"

"Liara's here?"

"Nah, not archaeology doc, medical doc."

Cortez raised a brow, "So the people she sees all the time, at work…"

"There's other people too," James insisted, "Jack's around, and that Jacob guy. And the others would totally come if she invited them! Our impending doom party was a blast— can you imagine how awesome our Christmas party could be if she and Sheila would quit acting like shut-ins?"

"Has it occurred to you that the two of them might actually want a little time to themselves?" Cortez asked, hands on his hips.

James looked flabbergasted, "On _Christmas_?"

Cortez sighed, "Look, even if we managed to get all the way to Grissom, we don't have the access codes to land. The station goes into lockdown during low-occupancy periods."

"Well Shepard got in somehow," James point out.

"Shepard is a spectre, an admiral, and a fairly talented hacker," Cortez enumerated, "So once you convince Kaidan, or Hackett, or Kasumi to come along, then _maybe_ I'll consider it."

He very deliberately shoved his head back into a mess of wires, muttering, "Need a squad of three for a crazy mission like this anyway."

There was a sudden knock on the door.

Warily, Cortez re-emerged.

"Who was that?"

With only a grin for a reply, James strolled over to the door and hit the access button, "Well lookie here, if it isn't Matilda, come waltzing in just in the nick of time."

"Hello James, hello Steve," she greeted.

James made a show of counting them out on his fingers, " _Uno, dos, tres_ … oh hey, look at that."

Cortez shot him a dirty look, but sure enough he leaned down to lift the access panel back into place.

"So, you got the codes for Grissom?" James asked, turning back to Oriana.

"Of course," she adopted a grin to match James' and held up an OSD, "My sister said I could use these anytime I needed to. A little holiday intervention seems like a noble enough cause."

While the two of them crowded into the back of the shuttle, Cortez took a heavy seat in the front. He punched up the onboard computer, setting it to calculate the optimal route to the spaceport.

"You sure your family's okay with you not being home on Christmas?" He asked, genuine concern in his tone.

"Honestly, my dad wasn't thrilled, but my mum talked him into it. She likes the idea of me spending Christmas with my sister. She thinks Miri's a good influence on me," Oriana replied, adding, "The fact that Admiral Shepard's going to be there didn't hurt either."

"Bet she wouldn't like it so much if she knew you'd also be spending Christmas with James Vega, who is definitely _not_ a good influence," Cortez grumbled from the front seat.

"What can I say?" James ran a hand through his hair, a shit-eating grin on his face, "I'm not exactly the kinda guy you tell your mother about."

"Oh, she knows about you," Oriana replied simply.

Hitting the ignition, Cortez chuckled to himself. He had to hand it to a woman who could wipe the grin right off James Vega's face.

* * *

"Breakfast?" Shepard turned from the crib with a quizzical expression, "Didn't we just have breakfast yesterday."

"Yes, two days in a row, very impressive," Miranda replied, scooping the baby out of her arms, "You're ready for breakfast again aren't you Henry?"

She made no acknowledgement of the look Shepard was giving her, turning to head for the kitchen.

"At least let me cook this time," Shepard offered, hurrying up behind them, "You can feed him."

"Fine by me," Miranda agreed, setting him in the high-chair before taking a seat nearby.

After a few minutes, Shepard reappeared behind her, holding out a steaming mug of tea, "By the way, Merry Christmas, Miss Lawson," she said, leaning in to kiss the other woman's cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Shepard," Miranda replied, somewhat excessively charmed by the tiny clink her ring made as she accepted the mug.

"Would you mind holding off on the holiday celebrations until this afternoon?" Shepard asked, heading back over to the counter.

"As you like," Miranda replied, offering Henry a spoonful of food which he was eying disdainfully, and wondering if perhaps she should have left this task to Shepard, "I'm surprised you're so eager to wait."

"I wouldn't say I'm eager, but I know I'm not going to be able to tear myself away from it," Shepard clarified, "And I thought it might be fun to do something together this morning."

"Did you have something in mind?" Miranda asked.

"Yeah, Jack said something about you guys having an Armax arena?"

Miranda rolled her eyes, "We have an Alliance training simulator, yes."

"Then yeah," Shepard nodded, returning to her preparations, "I have something in mind."

* * *

"This is an illegal sim."

Shepard gave her a quizzical look, "It's supposed to be an untagged copy. How'd you know?"

"It was a very high-profile case, Shepard," Miranda replied, "Armax produced a popular line of sims based on missions you undertook during your hunt for Saren. When they announced the Port Hanshan scenario, Noveria Internal Affairs had them nailed to the wall faster than you can say injunction."

Shepard grinned, "You're well informed, Miss Lawson. This is a difficult sim to get your hands on, but as it happens, the agent overseeing the case sent me an untagged copy for my review."

"Aha," Miranda rested her hands on her hips, expression knowing, "Would this be the same agent who occasionally calls you in when she needs a hand taking someone down?"

"It's tit for tat," Shepard insisted, "I give her an asari forger, she tosses an illegal sim my way."

"Or a kiss."

Shepard laughed, "Funny you should say that, because I'm getting significantly fewer kisses overall since a certain vid made the extranet rounds..."

"God, I should have done that years ago," Miranda muttered, checking her mods one last time before holstering her Carnifex.

"Anyway, Noveria's an icy hellh- er…winter wonderland, so I figured it might be festive," Shepard continued.

Miranda raised a brow, "Shootouts with geth in the snow are your idea of festive?"

"Doing paperwork in your office with a mug of peppermint tea is yours, so neither of us is exactly great at this," Shepard countered.

"Fair enough." Miranda sighed, taking a moment to consider all the work she hadn't gotten done in the last few days. Honestly, there wasn't as much as she might have feared. Being a cog in the Alliance machine meant that when every other cog went home to celebrate the holidays it was difficult to make progress no matter how much diligent spinning one did.

"And you're quite sure you'll be comfortable taking the orders for once?"

"Aye aye, ma'am," Shepard saluted, "On your command."

Nodding sharply, Miranda turned, proceeding down the gangway towards the port. Gun, check. Squad, check. There were three sets of biometrics and three audio feeds reading out on her HUD as usual, one for her, one for Shepard, and one for the infant calmly napping back in the room. A bit unconventional, but it seemed to be working well, so long as the snoring didn't prove too distracting.

"Now the simulator can't really do the weather justice, so you just have to pretend it's cold," she heard Shepard saying, "Like so cold that Liara and Wrex haven't _shut up_ about it since we stepped out of decontamination-"

Just then, a voice interrupted, "This is Port Hanshan Security, put down your weapons!"

Shepard shot her smirk, and Miranda couldn't help returning it.

"I'm feeling chilly already," she remarked, leading the way in the direction of the row of drawn guns.

* * *

"I think we're keeping him."

Shepard's only response was an incredulous snort, much to the delight of the gurgling infant on her lap.

"I'm serious," Miranda insisted, sagging back into the couch.

"You are so hopped up on medi-gel right now."

"Well maybe if you'd warned me about the rachni queen…" Miranda grumbled.

"Hey, no one warned _me_ about the rachni queen," Shepard shot back, managing an indignant loll of her head, before adding, "Wait, did I actually ever fight the rachni queen?"

"Nope."

"Didn't think so," she grunted, lolling back her head, "Seems like I'd remember that."

They sat for a moment in silence, Henry fussing with Shepard's arm, searching for a way to coax his favorite orange toy into existence.

"That was fun," Miranda said, giving Shepard's thigh an affectionate pat, "Making peace with the geth and the rachni certainly hasn't diminished your talent for annihilating them."

"Yeah, I feel a bit bad about that," Shepard admitted, "Wonder how hard it would be to mod the ammunition into snowballs…"

Miranda scoffed, "Certainly no harder than solving that Towers of Hanoi problem."

"You're the squad leader, you solve the puzzles," Shepard said, unsympathetically.

Miranda exhaled dramatically, which was about as much resistance as she could manage at the moment. Her muscles were tingling delightfully; her biotics were singing. She wondered how many other sims from this line Shepard had managed to collect. She'd always wanted to see Ilos…

"Shepard," she persisted, suddenly recalling how she'd allowed herself to be distracted, "I think we're keeping him."

When there was no response, she turned, only to find that Shepard's eyes had pulled shut, her breath even.

Sighing, Miranda activated her omni-tool and presented it to the disappointed-looking Henry who immediately perked up.

She had the distinct feeling Shepard had known anyway long before she said it aloud. Lord knew she had.

* * *

"There's a shuttle landing in the hangar bay."

Shepard turned to Miranda with a frown, "Do you know who it is?"

"Alliance credentials…" Miranda scanned the screen. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed, "These are the access codes I set up for Oriana."

She began furiously typing again. "I should be able to access the security feed," she muttered.

A moment later, a fuzzy image appeared on her screen.

Shepard leaned down, squinting to get a better look at the figures emerging from the skycar, "Is that James?"

"I'm telling you, I thought it was a formal photo!" the large man was insisting.

"Oh right," Oriana countered, giving his shoulder a gentle shove, "like you weren't utterly smashed."

"Well yeah," he replied weakly, "that too…"

Miranda and Shepard exchanged looks.

"This is not my fault," Shepard stated definitively.

" _This_ is not your fault," Miranda agreed, gesturing first to the image on the screen, and then to the audio readout, "But _that_ is completely your fault."

"So what do we do?" Shepard said, "We can't exactly pretend we aren't at home."

"Yes, and Oriana does have my access codes as well," Miranda added thoughtfully.

"Hide?"

"Hide?" Miranda turned to her with a skeptical look.

"Sure— I'm an infiltration specialist, it would be a snap," Shepard grinned, "One time I left James alone on a deserted asteroid and it took him a solid week to find me."

Miranda blinked, "Why?"

"Training," Shepard explained, "Anderson left _me_ on a moon, but we had an appointment to make with a dalatrass and you know how salarians hate it when you're late."

"I think," Miranda said calmly, "That we should tell them."

Shepard shot a look at Henry, "About him?"

"About everything," Miranda clarified, adding, "But yes, mostly him."

"You sure you're ready?" Shepard placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Of course not," Miranda replied firmly, "But I'm getting over it."

They heard the singing coming down the hall long before they heard the knock. Henry looked up curiously from his spot on the floor, and once again Shepard and Miranda exchanged looks.

"It's open," Miranda called when the knock finally came. There was a pause in the caroling, then the door slid open.

"Merry Christmas!" Cortez, James, and Oriana shouted in unison as they stepped through the door. Then their gazes collectively landed on the baby who was gazing right back up at them, and the three of them froze.

And in that instant, Henry, who had been so stoic, so serene, filled his tiny lungs and let out a wail louder than any of them could have imagined.

* * *

"Shhh, shh… it's alright," Shepard murmured, bouncing Henry in her arms, her ears still ringing.

"Give him a little pat on the back, Lola," James suggested, "they like that."

"James, when your CO wants your opinion, she'll ask for it," Shepard grumbled, nonetheless giving his suggestion a try.

"What would you know about it anyway, Mr. Vega?" Cortez teased.

James shrugged, "I got a way with the _bebés_ , you know."

Oriana meanwhile, was sitting at the kitchen table, watching the scene play out.

"So he's our father's clone?"

Miranda nodded, pouring out two cups of tea, "I am sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Ori."

"That's alright… I imagine your feelings about it are a good deal more complicated than mine are," Oriana replied evenly, accepting a steaming mug. Just then, something glinting on her sister's finger caught her eye.

"Is that a ring?!"

The three marines all turned at the sound of the outburst.

"A ring?" James repeated.

"No kidding? Shepard, congratulations," Cortez exclaimed warmly, slapping her back.

"Guys, I really appreciate your support," Shepard said, "but for right now can we just focus on calming Henry down?"

"How could you keep this from me?" Oriana exclaimed, shooting up from the chair and crossing her arms irritably.

"I…" Miranda looked puzzled, "Wait, what?"

James tapped Shepard on the shoulder, "Hey, can I be your best man?"

"Are you kidding?" Cortez interrupted.

"Why not?" James shot Cortez a look before turning back to Shepard, "Lola, you can't have a turian as your best man."

"Why can't she?" Cortez interjected, "Besides, I'm sure Joker's ahead of you on the list anyway."

James cracked his knuckles, "Moreau and Vakarian, eh? You think that's my competition?"

"Cortez, Vega…" Shepard growled warningly.

"I mean sure, the baby is a big deal, but crazy stuff like that happens to you and Shepard all the time," Oriana was insisting.

Miranda was at a loss, "Meaning?"

"Come on, Miri, it isn't every day you two do something normal like get engaged!"

Leaving the two pairs to bicker, Shepard headed into the other room and sat down on the floor. Cradling the still squalling child between her legs, she activated her omni-tool.

"Shh, Henry," she cooed, "You know what I used to do when I was upset out at the ends of the galaxy?"

Turning to the projector, she said more loudly, "Do you have a minute, Miranda?"

Sure enough, Henry paused in his bawling to watch the lights spring to life, and take form.

"Of course. What can I do for you, Commander?"

Tentatively, he reached out a pudgy arm near the projector's base, blocking out the holo's right side. The intercepted photons glowed on his palm.

"Hey!" Shepard heard a voice from behind her and shot James a murderous look

"Hey," he said more softly, "is that the Miranda VI?"

"Why does James know about it?" Miranda groaned, coming into the room behind him along with Cortez and Oriana.

"Miranda VI and I talk all the time," James insisted.

Miranda's expression was skeptical, "About what?"

James turned back to the flickering holo, "Hey Miranda VI, what's a billabong?"

"Billabong is a nineteenth-century Australian-Earth colloquialism referring to a pond formed in the wake of a diverted river," the VI recited, "Also, something I will _throw you into_ the next time I catch you flirting with my sister."

"See," James said proudly, nudging Oriana with his elbow, "I told you I had it from a reliable source."

"You think that's harsh," Shepard interjected, "Miranda VI, will you marry me?"

The holo frowned, crossing her arms, "There's a lot to do, Shepard…"

"Wow," Cortez whistled, "She's as arbitrarily belligerent as the Shepard VI. Have the two of them ever met?"

Shepard coughed, "They… don't get along…"

"Hello, Miranda VI," Oriana tried.

The VI's expression softened, "Hello, Ori," it said warmly.

"Oh god," Miranda buried her face in her hand.

"Like I said," James muttered under his breath, squatting down beside his CO, "spot. on."

* * *

"First thing's first," Miranda announced, "All weapons in the gun closet."

"You two have a gun closet?" James chuckled, "You guys are such dorks…"

He and Cortez made their way over to stow their sidearms.

"Holiday afterparty it is," he was conceding as they stepped back out into the living room.

"Good," Cortez nodded, "That way people still have Christmas to spend with their families."

James glanced up from the guest list he was already compiling, "Crew _is_ family, Esteban. Always will be."

"Sure," Cortez agreed, "But there's gonna be other families now too…"

They glanced over at the table, where Shepard and Miranda sat with Henry beside them in his high-chair, speaking in low tones.

"James, will you help me with the cookies?" Oriana called from the kitchen.

"I'll help," Miranda replied automatically.

James shook his head, already headed for the kitchen, "No thanks Sheila, I've heard you bake like Lola dances. Esteban can help though."

Cortez amiably followed him into the kitchen. Settling back into her seat, Miranda sulked.

But she found that ill-feelings seemed to dissolve into nothing in this atmosphere. There was holiday music on autoplay, punctuated by James and Oriana occasionally breaking into live accompaniment, and the smell of cookies in the air. It wasn't remotely nostalgic, not for her anyway. But it still felt warm, if in a novel sort of way.

Shepard, meanwhile, was fussing with the settings for the window emulators, with Henry providing occasional input on the colorful interface.

"This thing has to have snow," she insisted, scrolling through the options, "It has settings for water rain, ammonia rain, a variety of ambient gasses, up to three suns… dammit, on what planet can we not get snow for Christmas?"

"Well," Miranda replied, "Australia, for one."

"Really?" Shepard paused, lowering the interface to give her a confused look, "Right, hemispheres… in that case, should I turn on the three sun setting instead?"

Miranda dismissed the interface with a wave of her hand, "I want to talk about Henry. In a few years he'll need to start school, and the closest schools for children his age are on Elysium."

"So we'll get a place on Elysium, preferably one with plenty of guestrooms," Shepard said, "And then you'll commute up here and I'll commute… wherever."

"Shepard, I have no intention of raising this child with the Normandy's vidcomm," Miranda gave her a pointed look, "You need a more permanent assignment."

Shepard nodded firmly, "I'll talk to Hackett. If he doesn't like it, I'll quit and become a stay at home spectre."

Miranda blinked. That had been surprisingly easy.

"I don't think I'll ever understand your relationship with your job," she remarked, shaking her head, "When it was soul-wrenching and life-threatening you wouldn't have given it up for anything. Now that it's cushy and safe you always seem to be on the verge of quitting."

"Anyone can go around the galaxy attending parties and taking down the occasional space pirate. Right now, the things that only _I_ can do are here," Shepard said, "So yeah, I'd quit, quite literally at the drop of a hat."

She reached under the table and produced the cartoonish biotiball cap, setting it proudly on her head.

"That thing is offensive," Miranda scowled, pushing it down over Shepard's face, "It's no wonder you got it from Jack."

"You know I'm not exactly sure where my real one got to," Shepard mused, "Maybe I'll just wear this one back to work instead."

"Oh good. Then they'll be sure to fire you long before you make good on those empty threats to quit," Miranda quipped.

"Speaking of hats…"

They glanced up to see James looming nearby, his hands behind his back.

"You know, I was reading somewhere that in Australia they celebrate Christmas by wearing silly hats. Did you know that, boss?" he said.

"No James, I didn't know that," Shepard replied, arms crossed as she leaned back in her chair, green eyes glinting in a distinctly Kasumi-like way under the still lowered brim of her hat.

Miranda scoffed, "Not in my family we don't."

"Oh really?"

Oriana appeared next to James. There was a blue paper crown set atop her head. Slowly, James' hands emerged from behind his back, a purple crown set in his palm, which he reverently balanced on his mohawk. Cortez came up beside him with a chuckle, setting a green crown on his head in a far less dramatic fashion.

"Alright Henry, how about red for Grissom?" Oriana suggested, presenting the child with a crown of his own, which he immediately pulled from his head and attempted to eat.

"Maybe I'll take that one," Shepard interjected, gently extricating the now misshapen and slightly damp crown from his hands, "Here, you can have mine."

She set the Admiral's cap on his head, and he showed his approval by immediately putting that in his mouth as well.

"Well Miri, that leaves just one more…" Oriana said, holding out the final golden crown.

She and James were standing far too close together, with Cortez nearby, a warm smile on his face. Shepard was grinning too, under a mangled piece of red paper that was roughly a crown. And little Henry was in the center of them all, industriously attempting to destroy his mother's gaudy cap, an act of which his other mother could not but approve.

Miranda sighed. With more dignity than should have been attainable under the circumstances, she reached out, and took the hat.

* * *

 _A/N- And here we find ourselves at the end. Bet you didn't think we were gonna make it for a minute (several months) there..._

 _Anyway, we're actually at the one year anniversary of this fic, so I was motivated to shoot for today. Thank you sincerely to everyone who read and reviewed along the way. You are the only reason this ever wrapped up, and I truly treasured each and every word you took the time to write. And if you haven't already, well...this fic is proof positive that it's never too late :)_

 _Until next time,_

 _JP_


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